Black Hole
by soavezefiretto
Summary: This JCer's humble go on a post-Endgame. Angsty and dark in the first chapters, but don't loose hope, there is a happy ending! And I mean it's here! STORY COMPLETE P Please r&r!
1. This is not happening

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this yatter yatter yatter... what's all this sweat about, none of the Paramount people made the effort to read any of the fanfiction that was being written out there, or they would have gotten SOME ideas on how NOT to mess everything up the way they did...  
  
Summary: Every true J/Cer has a post-Endgame-fix-it-all-fic in her/his head. Some of us actually write it down. Nastiness warning, especially in the opening scenes.  
  
Review: What can I say that hasn't been said before - yes, please! Let me know what you like, what you don't, any suggestions you may have... only remember, this is fanfiction and I do it for fun. I try to keep the characters in character, but there may be slight inaccuracies, since I haven't seen all the episodes. (I didn't need to to see that J/C was meant to be, but that's another story...) And yes, Chakotay will be in the story soon enough, I promise. This is only chapter one...  
  
  
  
  
Chaper 1: This is not happening  
  
  
"Has anyone seen the captain?"  
  
There were about half a dozen people on Voyagers bridge, and none of them belonged to the crew that had finally reached the Alpha Quadrant two weeks ago. Most of them, maquis and Starfleet, had gone through a first set of interviews and questionings and had subsequently been granted shore leaves which most of them were using to visit their families and travel around, getting settled down again, reacquainting themselves with their home. The people working on Voyager were mainly repair and maintenance crews, although it didn't look to Tom as if they were actually *repairing* anything. After all, each and every one of the consoles that were spread around in their single components had been very much functional when Voyager arrived. He didn't see much sense in pulling apart things that had been working all right in the first place. But right now his concern was another.  
  
"You know - captain Janeway? About this tall, reddish-brown hair, coffee-addicted, people drop dead where she walks?"  
  
A tall guy with a bland face emerged from behind Harrys station. Only it wasn't Harrys anymore, of course. It was just ops.  
  
"Captain Janeway?"  
  
Tom had to repress the urge to grab the man by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. What kind of morons where they letting take care of Voyager? He couldn't believe the captain would allow this...  
  
Tom clenched his fists until he felt the fingernails dig into his flesh and took a deep breath. It wasn't this guys fault, *he* had no reason to feel worried about the captain, why should he? He was just doing his job.  
  
"Yes, captain Janeway", Tom repeated slowly and deliberately. "I am looking for her, have you seen her? The ship's computer is off-line and can't tell me if she's on board."  
  
"Most of it will be offline for at least two more hours, because we still have to-"  
  
Maybe the guy needed a punch after all, Tom decided.  
  
"Look, I don't fucking care about the computer! I just want to know where the captain is! Can you tell me? Is that to much to ask? WHERE-IS-THE-CAPTAIN?"  
  
"She said she would be in her quarters", the big guy replied, totally unruffled by Tom's outburst.  
  
"Thank you!"  
  
  
After sounding the chime three times and receiving no answer, Tom started pounding on the door.  
  
"Captain! Captain, open up! It's me, Tom!" This was ridiculous, of course. If she didn't answer, it meant she wasn't in there. Then why was he so sure that she was, and that something was terribly wrong? And the computer was offline, he couldn't override the security codes...   
  
"Captain!!"  
  
Suddenly, the door slid open. Tom hadn't heard a sound. As eager as he had been to get into the room and see if everything was all right, now he hesitated on the threshold, gripped by a horrible, sickening fear.  
  
Inside, it was dark. "Captain?"  
  
Silence. For some reason, Tom hesitated to order the computer to turn on the lights. He had the feeling he wouldn't want to see whatever there was to see. And then he heard the moaning and saw the slight form sprawled on the floor in front of the sofa.  
  
"Oh my God, no... Computer, lights!! Lights!! Dammit!!"  
  
It would have been better if the lights hadn't worked. He wouldn't have had to see her, her hair plastered to her face, her uniform bespattered with blood, her eyes closed. There were glass splinters all over the place, and dark pool of blood on both sides of her body.  
  
Tom's rational mind refused to believe what he was seeing, the evidence before his very eyes, the deep cuts that zigzagged the captain's wrists. But, even as he desperately thumped his breast, before he remembered that he wasn't wearing his uniform and had no communicator, even as he picked her up and ran down the corridor with her in his arms, he knew what she had done, knew it with the same instinct that told him she was in her quarters, with the same instinct that had set him looking for her on Voyager, although she had no business being there and no one had seen her or heard from her for the past week. Oh God please, let sickbay be operational! If I can only stop the bleeding, and then I'll have to do a transfusion, for how long has she been there, oh God, what if I have to put her in a shuttle and fly her down, will she make it, oh please, please, this can't be happening...  
  
It was the longest two minute run in Tom Paris' life. 


	2. Oh shit

Disclaimer: See chapter one, I'm tired of repeating the same old stupid lines. The "everything is negotiable"-line I stole from a Babylon 5 episode ("Shadow Dancing"), and the "despair and die"-line is not orininally mine either - it's from Shakespeare's "Richard the III".  
  
Comment: It has been pointed out to me that captain Janeway would never try to commit suicide. For a more extended comment on that, refer to the end of this chapter. Please be assured that I am NOT dealing lightly with this matter, merely as a means to shock and baffle. A very close friend committed suicide a couple of years ago, and, if anything, that taught me that we can never NEVER know what's going on inside a person's mind, no matter how hard we try to understand, no matter how well we think we know someone. The way I write and what I write is partly influenced by that experience.  
  
I know I'm not furthering the action much with this chapter, I have to admit that I concentrated more on the suicide-discussion than on the actual story. It will get better, I promise!  
  
Review: Yes, please! I am very thankful for the constructive criticism I have already received, all I need are good reasons, even if I don't agree with them, so please continue sharing your thoughts with me. All I ask indulgence for are errors in spelling and grammar, English is not my native language and it's hard to find beta-readers around here.  
  
  
Chapter 2: Oh, shit  
  
  
Standing on the bridge, sitting in the command chair, even on the sofa in her ready-room or out of uniform, attending some festive gathering in the mess hall, Kathryn Janeway was an imposing woman, a woman who transmitted a certain power, in spite of her small stature and slight frame. It was more than an air of authority, more than the poise of someone who was accustomed to being in command - it was a very definite warmth that gathered around her, some kind of life-force and vividness that made one feel one had missed the real meaning of what life was until she entered the room.   
  
Was it a paradox, or, in some quizzical way, in the "natural" order of things, that the doctor, not a living being himself, should be especially sensitive to this effect she had? Even on those occasions when she had been injured or ill, lying unconscious on one of the biobeds in sickbay, she had never seemed quite as fragile as she should have - it was as if there were very fine chords of steel strung up inside her, and the reverberation, the song those chords sung could be heard and felt around her body, if one listened closely enough. This was, of course, a wholly irrational and unscientific perception, but by now the doctor was well beyond being afraid of the unscientific and irrational.  
  
As it was, the doctor had never really feared for the captain's life - somehow she always seemed to be so much more alive than anyone else he knew. Until now. As she lay on the biobed in Voyager's deserted sickbay, she looked not only pale and ill, not only small, but *brittle* somehow, papery, as if the mere brushing of a fingertip could undo her. After repairing the damage she had done on her wrists (the wounds were nasty-looking but not deep) and giving her a transfusion, he just sat there, pervaded by a feeling of utter bewilderment. This was so incomprehensible... After the initial relief of knowing that she would survive, the doctor felt capable of nothing more than to sit there by her side and ask himself-  
  
"Why?"  
  
It was not really a question, but a reproach. Tom's voice was filled with fury, and the same dazed bewilderment the doctor felt.  
  
"Why would she do this to herself? Now that we're home, not that we finally made it - *she* made it, goddamn it, she changed the fucking future to get us home, and now..."  
  
"I don't know, Tom. I don't know." It was the first time he had actually called him Tom instead of Mr. Paris. Yeah, watching your captain nearly die from self-inflicted injuries can make you feel really close, Tom thought wrily.  
  
"Will she be all right?"  
  
"Physically - yes. She has not lost a great amount of blood."  
  
"But - she was unconscious, couldn't move..."  
  
"There were also glass splinters, you said, didn't you? Well, my guess is that those splinters were once a bottle, or several bottles, and those were *not* full of synthehol."  
  
"Oh my God..." The mere thought of the captain dinking herself into a stupor, then shattering a bottle and slashing her wrists open with the splinters made Tom's stomach turn. A wave of nausea overcame him. The doctor must have seen him turning green. He said:  
  
"There is nothing you can do here now, Mr. Paris. You might as well go home."  
  
"No, I want to stay, I... I want to know..."  
  
"I don't think that would be wise. Tom-", the doctor laid a hand on his shoulder, "we have a very delicate situation here. Under normal circumstances... were she anyone else, I would have to notify Starfleet authorities immediately, the captain would be transferred to a hospital and then subjected to *thorough* treatment. Now, you and I know that these are *not* ordinary circumstances, and we don't really want anyone to know about this, do we?"  
  
Tom shook his head, though somewhat hesitantly.  
  
"What we want", the doctor emphasized, "is to help her. It is my professional as well as my personal opinion that we can do that, but we have to be very cautious. We can't rush or push her. We know she never does anything unless she really means it, so we can assume that, if only for a moment, she had the intention of ending her life. Just that she didn't succeed this time doesn't mean she won't try again. She's nothing if not persistent."  
  
"So what do you suggest, keeping her confined or what? I just want to talk to her, let her know... I don't know, that - that I'm here... that we all are, B'Elanna, Miral and me, we... and the others, Harry, Tuvok, Chakotay... shouldn't we let them know? I'm sure they would want to help, too."  
  
"For Gods sake, Mr. Paris, that would be the worst possible idea! What she needs is to come to terms with herself, not explain her actions to a lot of upset, worried people. You know her, if she felt she had caused others pain of worry she would only feel guilty. Please, *please*, don't tell anyone. I know, I know, you will tell B'Elanna eventually, but please tell no one else. Especially not Chakotay."  
  
"Why Chakotay?"  
  
"I can't really tell, but I have the feeling that it is important - that it would be important to her. They had a - special relationship."  
  
"Yes, I guess you're right." Tom nodded. Suddenly he felt defeated, and very, very tired. All he wanted was to hug his wife and hold his daughter, inhale the sweet, new scent of her.  
  
"You... you'll take care of her, won't you, Doc?"  
  
"Yes, I will, Tom. I will." The boldness of this statement gave the doctor a brief sensation of vertigo, but he stood by it and looked Tom steady in the eye. "You have done enough already. You have saved her life. Everything else is negotiable."  
  
"Thank God you were here, I don't know if I could have done it on my own."  
  
"You underestimate yourself. If it hadn't been for you, I would have spent hours going over these files without - without knowing..."  
  
They both looked at the still, small form on the biobed, so mercilessly outlined by the harsh light. Tom laid his hand briefly on her shoulder before leaving.  
  
"Please tell her... tell her..." Only now came the tears, blurring Tom's thoughts as well as his words. But the doctor nodded as if he'd spoken them.  
  
"I will."  
  
  
Half an hour later, the doctor was still sitting beside the captain, pondering various courses of action - although his plan, simple enough was already formed - when the captain's eyelids began to flutter. She blinked a few times, then turned her head instinctively in his direction. He smiled reassuringly (or so he thought) and said the most innocuous words he could come up with:  
  
"Good morning, captain."  
  
"Good morning", she answered automatically. "What...?"   
  
And then, as recent memories began to settle in, her body stiffened, her face hardened. She jerked her head away and muttered: "Oh, shit!"  
  
The doctor's nod was friendly enough.  
  
"Exactly", he answered.  
  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
True, Kathryn Janeway is a tough woman, and during those seven years in the Delta Quadrant it seemed nothing could bring her down. And that's exactly my point.  
  
You see, I don't believe it's the blows that finish you, but the constant strain. She survived the death of her first fiancé, the death of her father, the loss of Mark and so many other things. But between the woman who overcame all that pain (with considerable difficulty, remember her deep depression when her father died) and the woman we know by the end of Endgame, there lie seven years of constant strain. Every day, she had to bear an almost inhuman burden. Although the crew was mostly very supportive, the ultimate responsibility was hers. She isn't the type to second-guess her decisions, but that doesn't mean they don't weigh heavily on her, beginning with the guilt and doubt she must surely feel sometimes over her decision to destroy the Caretaker's ship rather than using it to get back to the Alpha Quadrant. There has been friendship and happy times, but there are some things you just can't share when you're a captain - it goes with the job. And if there's someone who is conscious at every moment about just what her job demands, that is Kathryn Janeway.  
  
Let's face it, she has spent seven years more or less alone, as much forced by circumstances as by her own will, seven years constantly pondering duty, with only one idea, one thought to keep her going: "I have to get this crew home." And we have sufficient proof to believe that Kathryn Janeway is a woman that, as Kes put it, "feels things deeply". What do you think seven years of "deep feeling" and no one to share it with could do to a person, even a very strong one?  
  
My premise is that, by the time Voyager reaches the Alpha Quadrant, Kathryn Janeway is a woman whose mental, physical and emotional limits have been stretched well past anyone's limits. She has endured the unendurable, has hardened herself, has denied herself her most deep desires, has finally brought her ship and crew home - and now what? Her life was that ship, she identified so closely with it, concentrated so hard on keeping her crew together and focused, that THAT ended up being all she was. Now her ship is not hers anymore, but just "a" ship, and her crew is not "hers", but just a group of people who set about their own business, because they don't have a common goal anymore.  
  
The human mind works in a strange way. When we set all our energies on one goal and finally reach it, we expect some sort of an epiphany, we believe everything - and I mean EVERYTHING - will be all right all of a sudden. Health, success, love, and living happily ever after. But most of the times, life just goes on, and soon there's the next goal to reach. Only captain Janeway just doesn't have anything left in her to go on by. She's spent. We all have moments of deep despair. I'm not saying she was planning to do away with herself. But one moment is all it takes. I find it very unfair to demand from our "heroes" such a degree of perfection that puts them above and beyond any kind of fallibility. That's not why I watch Star Trek, not why I admire the character of Kathryn Janeway. I think she has the right to make her own mistakes, the right to say "I can't go on like this, to hell with it all", the right to despair and die. She is not the kind of person who would choose to go on with a life which doesn't make sense anymore, which doesn't seem to offer joy or wonder. She is wrong of course, life has still so much to offer her, but there is this one moment, sunk deep into that black hole, when she just can't see it. She'll need her friends to do that.  
  
Chokatay choosing to be with Seven is not the main motive for Kathryn's attempted suicide. It's more like the final drop that makes the glass overflow. Many of us fans and fanfiction writers have had this vision where they reach home; the captain and Chakotay stand together on the bridge, watching earth approach; suddenly, they turn to each other, share a deep gaze and finally fall into each other's arms. If we have the right to have stupid fantasies, why can't they have them too? Knowing that they'll never come true has never kept us from dreaming dreams. I think that somehow, the captain's confused notion that everything would be all right once they were home included Chakotay. Of course, I am of the firm opinion that she has loved him all those years, or I wouldn't be writing this story. So now she finds herself with nothing left: she has no mission, no immediate perspectives, she believes she has lost her chance to love and be loved, and along the way she has lost herself. She doesn't know who or why she is anymore. Now she needs to find all that again.  
  
Sorry, I know this has been excessively long. I kind of expected an objection to my portrayal of captain Janeway's attitude and I needed to justify this idea of mine because, as I stated above, I know this is no light matter. I use fanfiction as another way to explore human nature.  
  
If you actually came this far, receive my admiration and gratitude. If you have any comments, you can e-mail me here:  
  
soavezefiretto@hotmail.com 


	3. One question

Disclaimer: Pick one.  
  
Comment: To tell the truth, I was completely overwhelmed by the response to my story. Your comments are not only kind and respectful, but very insightful and thought-provoking, and even the ones stating that they don't believe captain Janeway would ever try to commit suicide made me look at the story from a different perspective. Nevertheless, I am not changing the general story line. I hope you continue reading and enjoying "Black Hole" for what it's worth. This chapter is from Chakotay's point of view.  
  
Review: Yes, please! I'm counting on you, I read every review and take it very seriously, provided it's not a brainless flame. I couldn't do this without you.  
  
A special thanks to Maja! I think you're wrong, but you express yourself very clearly and with much feeling, and if you're not already doing it, I would encourage you to take up writing RIGHT KNOW!! :-) I don't know if I can make this story into that "one-of-a-kind" you've been waiting for, but I will sure as hell try.  
  
Special thanks also to those who offered to beta-read! And extra-special thanks to Michelle for actually taking the time and doing it:-) I owe you one.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3: One Question  
  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
  
Although it had only been two weeks, it seemed to Chakotay that he had been asked the same question innumerable times: worriedly, accompanied by an air of earnestness and firm handshakes, by people he hardly knew but who claimed to be "there for him," (cousins twice removed, old schoolmates, shopkeepers that used to give him candy when he was little); slyly, with greedy eyes, by reporters thrusting their cameras and micros into his face, hoping for a scandalous revelation, for a breakdown, for details about his sex-life; as a matter of courtesy by Starfleet interviewers who took great pains to make it perfectly clear just how little they cared about his answer; in a conspiratorial tone, by crewmates he met in the cafeteria, in between interviews, or who whispered it in his ear at one of the parties they were made to attend, as if it were not a simple question, but part of a secret code only they could understand.  
  
At first he had been confused and befuddled, trying to give a truthful answer, until he realized no one wanted that. What they wanted was reassurance, so now he had a standard "fine, thanks" for everyone, complete with a blank smile and empty eyes that said nothing. It worked well enough, except for B'Elanna, who gave him an angry glare whenever he used that phrase on her. Last time (yesterday, on a party thrown by former Starfleet Academy classmates of the entire crew, a rather tumultuous affair) she had grabbed him by the arm even before he could say hi, and had hissed in his ear "don't you 'fine thanks' ME, Chakotay, don't you dare!" But then she had been borne away by the same small whirlwind of eager red-and-golden cadets that had swallowed Tom only seconds before. There was no time to talk, which was just as well for Chakotay. What was there to talk about, after all?  
  
There were only three persons who had NOT asked him that question.  
  
Alone in the temporary quarters he and Seven shared, within walking distance of Starfleet Headquarters, this was the first time he had more than two minutes for himself, that were not scheduled in advance, filled with meetings, hearings, formal and informal interviews, parties, gatherings - or Seven. All the members of the bridge crew (except for the captain) had been asked to share their quarters during the "initial formalities," (a somewhat frightening expression, Chakotay thought), and it had only seemed natural that he should share with Seven. It was not as if they were moving in together, but everyone, including themselves, seemed to take it for granted that they belonged together now.  
  
Chakotay shook his head and moved over to the window, overlooking a patch of lawn and some poplar trees clinging to their last, wet, leaves. He didn't want to think about that. In fact, there were a great many things he didn't want to think about, and up until this moment he had managed to avoid doing it. That morning he had been informed that his meetings with Starfleet authorities were over for now, that "deliberations" were being held, and that he would be informed of the outcome. Fine. Seven, of course, they were told by enthusiastic, all but gloating groups of scientists, they needed to investigate "more thoroughly." Fine.  
  
Should he be outraged at being treated in such a dismissive, haughty way? ("You will be informed," "you are asked not to leave the premises until further notice"; what was it with bureaucrats and the passive voice?) Should he be worried about Seven? Maybe. Maybe he would have been, once. Right now, all he felt capable of doing was staring out of this window straight ahead into nothingness.  
  
Trying not to think.  
  
He was not succeeding.  
  
There were three unasked questions.  
  
Seven had not asked him how he was because it was irrelevant, of course. There was nothing she could do about the way he felt. She could take him out for dinner if he was hungry, for a walk if he was restless, she could bring him another cushion or a blanket, she could talk to him if he felt like company or be silent if he would rather be alone. Those were the things she did for him.  
  
She had adjusted with astonishing ease to being a "couple," to saying "us" and "we" instead of "me" and "I." Chakotay could see that she not only said it, but thought it. Like everyone else, she assumed they belonged together now. It was understandable: she needed something to be sure of. Everyone else had a family, friends, and they were content with taking things easy for a while, just enjoying being home, before thinking about the future. Seven, on the other hand, was not one to "take things easy," and her future was more uncertain than anybody else's. So, for the time being, she concentrated on being Chakotay's girlfriend, until someone told her what else she could be.  
  
The captain, -Kathryn-, no, THE CAPTAIN hadn't asked him how he was either, simply because they hadn't talked since they arrived. Chakotay knew she had attended some of the same parties, that she had been questioned in the same buildings, sometimes in the same room he had just left or would be sitting in minutes ago. At first he hadn't noticed; he was so used to having her around, to *knowing* she was somewhere close by, that he just assumed she was.  
  
A week ago he had begun asking; she had been here, yes, someone was sure he had seen her yesterday, Harry had heard her voice in an adjoining room - but no, no one could tell him where she was right now. Busy no doubt, weren't they all? Sure. He began leaving messages. No response. Should he try her mother's house? It seemed inappropriate and intrusive, but now that he had the time to think, the worry welled up in him like a black, sticky wave, threatening to drown him in blind panic.  
  
Standing there by the window, Chakotay thought: "I'll call her mother. I'm sure she'll be there. I just want to make sure she's all right. I will turn around now, walk to the comm-console, ask for Gretchen Janeway's number... I WILL turn around NOW..."  
  
But he couldn't move. Feet rooted to the carpet, heart beating madly against his ribs, sweating hands - all the classic symptoms of the imminent nervous breakdown. After two weeks of holding back, (two weeks? or was it more like five years?), his body was telling him that this was it: no one was moving until this question had been answered.  
  
He leaned his forehead against the glass, spread his palms and put them on the glass too. As he spoke, Chakotay didn't recognize his own voice, creaky and small, coming out of a throat tightened with anguish. He was not surprised; he had not talked to himself for quite some time. But now there was no choice, so he asked the question again, and again, and again. All he could do was hope to come up with an answer, eventually.  
  
  
"How do you feel?" 


	4. Concerto for two violins

Disclaimer: These people are not mine - says you. At least I care for them!  
  
Comment: I am very, very sorry for two things. First, a stupid spelling mistake made my comment to Maja come out all wrong. I didn't mean "you're wrong, but I like your writing", I meant "you're wrong about your writing, I think it's great"!!! Please, if you're reading this, accept my sincerest apologies. Your review was the most amazing I ever got, and can't begin to thank you for it. (The second best I got a week ago; someone anonymous who called him/herself "bleh" wrote something like "I never thought one could actually write as bad as you. You must feel very, very special." I thought that was very good. And, as a matter of fact, I do.)  
  
Second - I'm awfully sorry this is so late. I had a bad case of writers block. I kept writing and deleting, writing and deleting, until even the writing stopped. I'm not completely over it yet, but I've decided I need to stop hiding away and being a coward. So this is the best I can do for now. Poor Kathryn, not much fun in it for her, either.  
  
I'll understand if you don't want to read or review anything else of mine ever again - but you also know that I need you comments and thoughts.  
  
Oh, by the way, the piece of music I'm so clumsily describing is the second movement of Bach's concerto for two violins, BWV 1043.  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 4: Concerto for two violins  
  
  
The water was less than lukewarm now, and so murky she couldn't see her own body lying in the bathtub. Her skin was numb, her limbs might as well not exist. Kathryn moved a hand and watched the ripples on the surface. Then she raised it until all the fingers, the palm and the wrist were above water. She wriggled the fingers, and they responded, but it didn't feel like they were part of her; the whole hand seemed detached, and she looked at it with slight revulsion, as she would look at a twisted, dead tree in a gray, alien landscape. She raised the arm a little more, looking for the scars that would prove that blood had once pulsated there - but they were all gone by now, of course.   
  
She blew out the candle that she had stuck to one edge of the bathtub. Darkness settled in immediately, swallowing everything so completely that Kathryn gasped in shock. What a difference one candle can make. Now you see, now you don't. Now you're here, now you're - somewhere else? The cold crept into her bones. She let her head sink into the water and held it there, listening to the rush of her blood, the beating of her heart. When she closed her eyes she could still see it, imagine with her mind's eye the millions of cells, constantly reproducing, all the myriads of delicate balancings and adjustments that kept her alive. Like the thousands of operations per second that kept a starship warping through space, the replicators replicating, the holodeck producing whatever you programmed into it. And if she held her head under water a little longer, just a little longer, it would all stop, and there would be silence. Silence...  
  
"Kathryn? Are you all right in there?" A knock on the door. Her mother's voice. Urgent, not even pretending to be casual. Almost accusing. Oh mother, just a little longer...  
  
"Doctor? Doctor, come up, hurry!" Steps in the hall below, running up the stairs. "Kathryn!!"  
  
She emerged and tried to suppress her first ragged gulp of air. "I'm here, mom, I'm ok!"  
  
"Open the door, captain!"  
  
Kathryn winced. Would he never stop calling her that? "I can't, I - I have shampoo in my eyes. I was washing my hair, that's why I couldn't hear you."  
  
"Oh..." Yeah, now you're embarrassed. Serves you right, Kathryn thought.  
  
"Do you need help, darling?" Her mother's voice again, soothing now, as if speaking to a sick - and not very bright - infant. Kathryn set her teeth and dug her fingernails into her handballs.  
  
"No, I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute." After she heard the steps go down the stairs, she added softly: "The water is cold now anyway." And then, in a whisper: "And it's so dark..."  
  
  
"She's not getting any better, isn't she?" Gretchen's voice was matter of fact, her face was averted, her hands busy with the preparations for dinner, but the doctor knew about the sadness, the helplessness in her eyes. It was always there.  
  
"It is hard to say. These things take their time..."  
  
"'These things'? My daughter tried to take her own life! That is not just 'one of these things', doctor!"  
  
"I know."  
  
Gretchen's fury ebbed down as quickly as it had flared up. "I'm sorry doctor, I didn't mean to..."   
She sighed and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I suppose I'm still a little shaky about earlier. I thought she'd-"   
  
She couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, she sat down at the kitchen table beside the doctor.  
  
"I wish I could tell you she *is* getting better, or at least how long it will take before she starts getting better, but I can't. I can't even tell you what's wrong with your daughter, except that she's very sad, and I think she's been sad for a long time. And that I am convinced that right now, this is the best place for her to be. Of course, I can understand your frustration. Believe me, I share it, more than you might be aware of. If you feel you should resort to more specialized help-"  
  
"A Starfleet shrink, you mean? No thank you: I know that's the last thing she'd want, if she - well, if she could think clearly."  
  
"It doesn't have to be a Starfleet *shrink*." The doctor winced at that, since he considered himself somewhat of a psychiatrist, in his own modest way. But this was no time to argue about terminology. For all the good his psychiatry was doing the captain... "There are many extremely capable professionals outside Starfleet that would be happy to-"  
  
"Doctor, please, we've been through this. You and I know that they would end up reporting all of this to Starfleet and turning Kathryn over to them as well. It would show up on her record, the media would be delighted to finally get one really gory story out of Voyager's return, her crew and friends would get involved..." Gretchen leaned over and put her hand over the doctor's. This gesture and the earnest look she gave him were so like her daughter that it very nearly made him shiver. So many times she had looked at him just like that, and spoken those same words:  
  
"I trust you, doctor. I know you would only do what's best for her."  
  
He sighed. "I would, if I only could *do* something! But she wont let me try any therapeutic approach, no hypnosis, no psycho-cognitive analysis, she won't talk, she won't go on walks or for a swim, she won't even take the herbs I recommend! She denies anything might be wrong with her, and I can't treat a patient that won't admit she's sick."  
  
"Well, maybe she'll come around. It's just been a week, it's too soon to tell either way - isn't it?"  
  
Gretchen's eyes were begging him to say it was, so he said it, and she didn't believe it, but pretended to, and went back to preparing dinner - a vegetable quiche, one of Kathryn's favorites which, they both knew, she wouldn't eat. She'd just sit there, between the two of them, pushing the food around on her plate and talking very loud and very much about nothing at all. That was what frightened Gretchen most of it all (except those bloodied shards of glass she kept seeing in her nightmares) - not the silences, the moods, the screams at night. Kathryn loved to listen to other people, and when she spoke you could see she cared about that too, about how her words made others feel, and what they meant. She never spoke lightly - Kathryn was never much for small-talk. And now it was all she did.  
  
  
Upstairs, Kathryn sat in front of the desk in her old room, wrapped up in a towel, hair still dripping - the same room she had woke up in for the first sixteen years of her life, the same room she had stayed in for more than a month after her father died - the room that had seen the best and the worst of her, her innocence and her despair, first love and deep anguish, exalted dreams and pitch-black nightmares.   
  
Except no one ever sees the worst of it, Kathryn thought. You think you've seen it, you think you know what it's all about, you think you're *over* it - and the next minute you find out you didn't have a goddamn clue. And the *next* thing you know is you've crashed a bottle of vodka and are writing something on your arm with a piece of it.  
  
An inviting smell was coming from downstairs. There were goosebumps all over Kathryn's skin, but still she didn't move or call for lights. When the small comm-console on the desk beeped, she jumped convulsively to her feet and dropped the towel. Instinctively, she hit the receiver and said "Janeway here" to the empty screen. Instead of showing a face, the screen remained empty, and the computer's voice said: "Incoming recorded message from Commander Chakotay. Do you wish to receive?" Before she had had time to consciously think about it, her mouth had already taken the decision for her: "Yes."  
  
It was a short message. Just his face against a light background.  
  
"Hello, Kathryn. I'm sending this to your mother's place, because I have a feeling that's where you might be. I've been trying to contact you - we all have - but you seem to have disappeared. Which is good for you, I suppose; I know I would if I could. I thought all the questionings and welcome-receptions were bad, but now that part seems to be over - and it's getting worse. The big boys are deciding what to do about me and telling me to sit tight until they are done, I can't go anywhere or do anything, and every other minute there's someone from the press knocking at my door, claiming to be my best friend and wanting me to tell my *story*." A sigh. "To tell you the truth, Kathryn, I don't feel so good most of the time. It's taken me some time to figure that out, with so much going on... But now it's quieter, and Seven is away very often, so..." Here he looked away and then straight at the camera again. "Anyway, that's not why I'm sending this message. I just - I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking about you, and that I'd love to talk to you, if you feel like it." He hesitated, but only a second, before adding: "I miss you. It's taken me some time to figure *that* out, too, it seems. And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to do something about that."  
  
There was a little quirk in the image, as if he had shut if off and then quickly turned it on again. "Oh, I'm sending you something with this. I heard it the other day, and it reminded me of the day we listened to it after dinner - you said you couldn't believe I had never heard it before. Afterwards, I couldn't believe it either... and I've been hearing it ever since. Only lately I forgot it was there. Do you remember?" Chakotay's face on the screen smiled once more, then disappeared. The computer's voice said: "Attached file, audio only. Do you wish to receive?"  
  
No, no, no, I *don't* want to receive, I don't want to hear anything, why don't you all just leave me alone? I'm all through with that, can't you respect my decision?  
  
But she didn't say it out loud, she didn't leave the room, and she didn't smash the computer on the floor. Instead, she heard a tiny voice that couldn't possibly be hers whisper: "Yes." Kathryn could barely hear herself, but the computer apparently did, because suddenly there was music in the air. A violin, singing a sweet, somehow self-contained melody, like someone lost in thoughts that were not always happy, but fulfilling. Then a second violin joined the first, and what had been a lonely musing now became a dialogue: two voices raising, sharing the same thought, the same soul, but singing it with their own tune, at their own particular pace.  
  
Kathryn listened to all of it, standing right in the middle of the room, naked. When it ended, there were tears running down her face. She touched them, them put the finger to her lips, tasted the salt and thought, in wonder: "Well, what do you think of that!" 


	5. Beginnings and endings

Disclaimer: I didn't invent the characters, but I'm trying to invent a better life for them - or at least one that makes more sense.  
  
Comment: As always (let's hope this doesn't turn into a habit) my sincere apologies for being so late. I have a family and my muse had a cold, but I know that's no good excuse.  
  
A big BIG thank you for all the reviewers and all those who took the time to e-mail me with their encouragement, comments, thoughts - and extra special thanks to Maja (again!) and to Molly. Hey, it seems all it took was that final, gentle push and... here it is, the new chapter! :)  
  
Review: Where would I be without it... I mean it, and I hope those of you who already have done it are noticing that I'm taking all that good advice very seriously, so keep it coming! :)  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 5: Beginnings and endings  
  
"You are not listening."  
  
It was not a question. It was not a reproach. But it was not a simple affirmation, either. There was a mixture of helplessness and surprise in Seven's voice since they where back that had the power to completely disarm Chakotay. Besides, he had never lied to her. He was not about to start now.  
  
"No. I'm sorry, Seven. What were you saying?"  
  
"I was asked today if I would be interested in joining Starfleet's scientific investigation division. But we can discuss that later. You are preoccupied. Do you wish to talk about it?"  
  
"The science division? That's great! See, I told you they would come around to it eventually. What did you tell them?"  
  
It was a pathetic attempt, and it didn't work. Not with Seven. After all, she was the smartest person he'd ever met. Or *anyone* had ever met, for that matter.  
  
"You are trying to avert my attention." She hesitated. She had been hesitating a lot these last two weeks. "However, if you don't want to talk..."  
  
Chakotay sighed.  
  
"No, I don't *want* to... but we have to."  
  
Seven pushed back her chair, collected the empty dishes from the table and crossed the room to the kitchenette.  
  
"Maybe it would be better if you talked to someone else."  
  
He stiffened. "What do you mean?"  
  
As she walked back, Seven delicately placed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She didn't just 'tuck' it in, she put it there with a very determined, precise and (of course) efficient movement that had become an unconscious habit since she wore her hair loose at Chakotay's suggestion. He couldn't help but marvel at her elegance. If you didn't know her, you'd think she was the very model of poise and self-possession.  
  
But he knew her. As well as anyone could know Seven. Her delicate fingers hovered in the air for a moment before she picked up the glasses.  
  
"If your preoccupation is... of an emotional kind, perhaps it would be wiser to discuss it with someone who has more - resources and more experience in that field."  
  
All of a sudden, Chakotay was so overwhelmed by a wave of fierce tenderness for her that he almost choked. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her and tell her not to worry, promise that everything would be all right. What kept him from doing it was the terrible certainty that she would believe him.  
  
"I don't want to talk to *someone*, Seven. It's you I want to talk to. And I think you have quite enough resources. Enough for me, anyway." He smiled, and she smiled back. A still somewhat unpractised smile, all the more charming for that...  
  
"Come, sit with me." He took her hand and led her to the sofa. They sat down facing each other. The afternoon sun shone full on her face and made her squint. He reached over and pulled the curtain.  
  
"These past few days I've had a lot of spare time, so I've been thinking... It's been a while, you know. Since I last thought things over, I mean. It's been busy lately..."  
  
"I understand."  
  
He smiled and touched her cheek briefly.  
  
"I know you do. You understand everything. Do you know how amazing you are?"  
  
Seven raised an eyebrow. "So I am told. Today Dr. Potter said I was a living wonder in nanotechnology, the most stunning piece of-"  
  
"That's not what I mean, and you know it. It's just that you've been trying so hard to make this work... us, and I - I feel bad, Seven because I've let you down. I have let you do this alone, and I'm very sorry."  
  
"We have both been... distracted."  
  
"Yes, we have."  
  
They were silent for a moment. Then they spoke simultaneously.  
  
"But you have not let me alone."  
  
"I haven't been honest with you."  
  
Chakotay's words had a desperate urgency behind them. Seven let him speak.  
  
"I've never lied to you. What I mean when I say I haven't been honest is that there are things I haven't told you... things you don't know about me." He took her hands, looked down for a moment, then up into her face again.  
  
"Before I move on, before I decide what I want to do next, there are... matters I have to deal with. Unfinished business. When I left, I had been running away for a long time... I never thought I'd run quite so far... but I don't want to do that anymore. I have changed, I hope I have learned something too... I have been uncomfortable ever since we came back, and I'm sorry if you felt it was because of you. It was not, even I didn't know the reason, until I had the time to realise that, if this is a new beginning, some other things will have to end. One way or the other."  
  
The last sentence he added as an afterthought, more for himself.   
  
"Are you leaving?" This time, it *was* a question.  
  
"Yes." He saw a shadow cross her face and added hurriedly: "Not for a long time. There are people, from the Maquis, that I want to meet. I have decided that I am not joining them again, but they are friends. The least I owe them is a proper goodbye."  
  
"When I first came on Voyager, loyalty was a concept I could not understand. It is - inefficient, the risk factor it entails is unacceptable."  
  
"But now it's different, isn't it?"  
  
"Now I can... understand. If you are not going back to the Maquis, will you join Starfleet?"  
  
"I don't know yet. I hope I can decide when - well, when everything else is off my mind."  
  
She seemed so relieved that he hated himself for speaking again.  
  
"I'm going to see the captain, too."  
  
Whatever effect he expected these words would have on Seven - it didn't happen. She was getting up - another appointment with the ever so enchanting and admiring Dr. Potter.  
  
"Of course. I am sure she will give you very good advice about your career." When she saw the dismay on his face, she sat down beside him again and put her hands on his. "And about those - other things, too. Whenever I was confused or afraid, the captain has always helped me so much. I know she will do the same for you."  
  
Chakotay flinched at the glowing faith he saw in her eyes. What should he do? Tell her that it was not about his career that he wanted to see the captain? That he had decided that he had to try one last time to win her love, to make her accept his? If she did, he would have to leave Seven behind, or at least the relationship they were pursuing now. If she didn't - could he return to her as if nothing had happened? That would be low and cowardly, and unfair for everyone. No, if he went to see Kathryn, that would be his choice, come what may. And Seven had to know.  
  
A few hours ago he had been sure that he could face anything, that anything would be better than this uncertainty, this slow dumb dejection that was eating him from inside... But now he could feel courage and resolution leaking out of him, and the doubt came alive again: could he take again, the pain, the frustration, the rejection? Was that what he wanted? Seven was real, she was *here*, she cared for him and he cared for her... wasn't that enough? Wasn't that a beginning?  
  
The comm-console beeped. Chakotay jumped to his feet, hoping Seven hadn't seen the guilt and shame on his face.  
  
"Yes, Chakotay here."  
  
"Chakotay..."  
  
"B'Elanna!" Chakotay's happy smile faded rapidly as he noticed her stricken expression. And there was something more, a terrible grief and a dark anger he had never seen before. God, something horrible must have happened...  
  
"Miral... is she alright? B'Elanna..."  
  
"Yes, she's fine. It's not Miral, it's... look, I shouldn't be talking to you, Tom made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone, but I just can't stand it anymore, I have to do something, and I can't go there... Tom wouldn't let me, and he's right, I'd probably just make it worse but... hell, you can do something, you *have* to do something..."  
  
"B'Elanna, what? What is it? Do what? Go where?"  
  
On the screen, B'Elanna took a deep breath.  
  
"It's about the captain..." 


	6. Of constellations, cows and scrabble

Disclaimer: We don't own anything. But we're doing a better job.  
  
Comment: I know you will HATE me for dropping Chakotay off like this in Kathryn's living room and then leaving. I promise I'll be back very soon with some of the heavy stuff we're all looking forward to. This week I've been staying with my father, who is addicted to solitaire and on-line bridge, and has only one computer...  
  
Thank you to all the reviewers! Your enthusiasm, encouragement and good advice are writing this story as much as I am. Please keep telling me what you like, what you don't, where you would like this story to go...  
  
This one is for Molly, the ideal reader... :-)  
  
  
  
Chapter 6: Of constellations, cows and scrabble  
  
  
It was very quiet in the kitchen during dinner. Gretchen and the doctor kept exchanging furtive glances, first surprised, then anxious, then (almost, though not quite daring to be) hopeful. Kathryn looked steadily down on her plate, and by the time the others had finished, hers was empty too.  
  
Gretchen had never given up the habit of washing the dishes in the sink. Kathryn stood beside her mother and dried the dishes she was handed, while the doctor walked around the kitchen and stored everything neatly away in cupboards and drawers. He missed his sickbay, where everything had its place and its purpose, where he spent the hours happily lost in a tricky molecule combination or the fascinating strangeness of some recently met aliens' physiology... he missed his home. But there would be time to deal with his own lamentations further on. His first duty was as a doctor and to his crew, whether on or off Voyager. So he discreetly vanished upstairs (for some reason he felt reluctant to disconnect himself since they had arrived in the Alpha Quadrant, and he hadn't done so yet, although he knew it wasn't exactly "healthy" for him), hoping for a liberating, cleansing mother-daughter talk. He didn't fool himself that one conversation would make everything alright, dissipate all fears and restore the vibrant, resilient, laughing captain Janeway he had known (or thought he knew) for seven years. But it would be a start, it would be a start... And tonight her eyes had been unclouded for the first time. Still full of regret and sadness, yes, but the horrible veil of unnamed and numb despair that covered them was gone. Would it come back... ?  
  
Next morning, the doctor found Gretchen sitting thoughtfully at the kitchen table, reading and sipping coffee. She greeted him with a radiant smile.  
  
"I take it you slept well?"  
  
"Great! Did you hear her?"  
  
"Who, the captain? No... did you?"  
  
"Not a peep, and isn't that wonderful? It's the first night she doesn't wake up screaming."  
  
The doctor sat down across the table and grabbed a cookie, unaware of his own relieved sigh. It had taken Gretchen a while to get used to that sort of things, and it still made her smile every time: holograms were not supposed to sigh like that; but then holograms were not supposed to feel compassion or worry, either - or to eat cookies, for that matter.  
  
"So, what did she say?"  
  
"Say... ? Oh, you mean Kathryn? When?"  
  
"Yesterday, after dinner. I thought you two would... well, talk."  
  
"Yes, for a moment I thought so too, but - we didn't."  
  
"Oh." The disappointment was so obvious on his face, how could a mere construction of light and shadow be so bad at hiding his emotions?, Gretchen wondered.  
  
"We sat on the porch and looked a the stars for a while. She said some constellations in the Delta Quadrant looked so much like the ones here, that sometimes she woke up in the middle of night and looked out of the window, and for a second she would believe Voyager had miraculously found its way home... Then she said she was tired and went up to her room."  
  
Gretchen was silent for a moment, then turned to the doctor again. "But she was - different, more like herself, like her *old* self. You... you saw it too, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, I did." He doubted Kathryn Janeway would ever be her *old* self again (would any of them? Well, except for him, of course, for him there was no change, only evolution...); but Gretchen was right, cautious joy was in order. As long as the captain found a self, what did it matter if it was old or new?  
  
He looked around. "Where is she? Didn't she get up yet?"  
  
"Oh yes, she left at seven. She went hiking."  
  
"Hiking? What do you mean, hiking? For how long, how far?"  
  
"Oh, she just took some sandwiches. From what she said, I guess she intended it to be more like a long walk."  
  
"This is extremely irregular! She shouldn't be exerting herself, she hasn't been eating properly, and her physical condition is far from ideal... What is the use of taking along your own personal physician if you are not going to consult him? What am I, a glorified holographic butler?"  
  
Gretchen suppressed a grin. "She told me you'd probably jump right through the ceiling. She said to tell you her legs were so wobbly they wouldn't take her far anyway, and she had no intention of crawling home. " I have damaged my dignity enough as it is, Kathryn had added, trying to produce a wry smile but not quite succeeding.  
  
"Well... did she at least tell you where she was going?"  
  
"Yes. Out there, she said."  
  
"Oh great. Now I know exactly where to send the rescue teams."  
  
At that, Gretchen flinched and her eyes hardened imperceptibly. "She may not be going through her best moment right now, doctor, but this is still captain Kathryn Janeway we're talking about, the woman who brought Voyager and all her crew back all the way from the Delta Quadrant, and now she's taking a stroll through the countryside she grew up in. I hardly think we will have to call in any rescue teams."  
  
Well, if there was ever any doubt where the captain got her temper from...., the doctor thought.  
  
"Tell me one thing, doctor."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What do you do with all those things you eat? Holographic digestion?"  
  
  
For the first couple of hours, Kathryn walked steadily on, barely taking in her surroundings, concentrating on the movement of her lags, the regular in and out of her breath, the breeze on her face, the blood that rushed in her ears and made her fingertips tingle. Was this the same body that had lain, grey and dead, in the darkness and the cold, dirty water yesterday evening? Was this the same body that had seemed to her so unbearably heavy, so chockfull of something viscous, poisonous, sticky that could not be her own blood, her own life?  
  
With the sun already high in the clear blue sky, she sat on a fence and ate her sandwiches, feet dangling. Looking around, she noticed that she was surrounded by green pastures that extended towards the horizon in every direction. She wondered what kind of vegetation this was, before remembering that she was on earth and that it most probably was nothing but ordinary grass. But if this was grass, shouldn't there be cows somewhere? It was always Phoebe who paid attention when their mother explained things about farms and farmers; Kathryn had always known that her future was far, far away from here, and relied unconsciously on her sister to keep alive the roots, the past... the past...  
  
Half an hour later she reached a cluster of trees. Although she wasn't tired, the shadow, the sweet, melodious rustling of the leaves and the exquisitely soft grass were too tempting. What the hell, there's nowhere I should be, she thought as she sat down and leaned her back against a tree. After a moment, she took off her boots and socks.  
  
Maybe it all boils down to this, she thought. Take a vacation, walk a little, eat some sandwiches, sit beneath a tree and think of nothing at all...  
  
Out of nowhere, a vicious wave of nausea made her keel over, and all she could do was scramble to her knees and hide, rather absurdly, behind the tree, before throwing up.  
  
"Well, so much for the sandwiches", she said when it was over, and her voice sounded thin, crushed somehow by all those big, fat, insultingly green and healthy leaves. It was getting chilly. Kathryn went home.  
  
  
As soon as she closed the door behind her, her mother came out of the living room, a curious expression on her face.  
  
"Hello, darling. How was the walk?"  
  
"Short."  
  
"Are you feeling alright? You look a little white around the nose..."  
  
"I... I was a little faint for a moment, but please don't tell the doctor, ok mom? Provided he's not hiding around the corner, ready to scream I told you so!"  
  
"He will anyway, you know that. But right now he's in the living room."  
  
Kathryn began taking off her boots. "Oh, still addicted to scrabble, are we? Well, this time I'll join you and I'll show you how the game is really played."  
  
"Well, actually, Kathryn, we have a... visitor."  
  
"Oh." Kathryn hadn't meant to drop the boots quite so noisily.   
  
Starfleet. That was why her mother had that strange look on her face; somehow Starfleet medical had found out where she was and *why* she was there, and now they were here to tell her she had nothing to worry about, they understood perfectly, only she would have to accompany them to one of their "facilities", where her "problem" would be treated in the most efficient manner... Maybe they had forced Tom to tell them; he was not exactly in a position to deny them anything they wanted: technically, he was still on probation, his wife was officially still part of the Maquis, and he had his daughter's future to think about.  
  
No, she wouldn't blame him. He had saved her life, and she hadn't even thanked him for it. Now it was her turn not to let him down. No matter how much more time she had hoped for (time for what?), this was it. She would step into the living room, she would hold her head high, and she would tell those very friendly uniformed people exactly what-  
  
"Kathryn!"  
  
Not so long ago, this was the face she had seen beside her on the bridge every day. This was the face she turned to when there were decisions to make, and this was the face she thought of (privately, oh so very privately) when she was lonely, when she felt so cold she couldn't take one more step and the smile froze on her face, when she was so tired she felt sick at the mere thought of getting up in the morning... Then, it had turned into the face she didn't allow herself to think of anymore, and so the loneliness filled her up, and the cold, and she *did* feel sick most of the time, but what of that. She still had Voyager, yes, she still had Voyager... And now, standing not two steps away from her, he seemed as distant as someone else's dream.  
  
Her first impulse was to bolt out and run all the way to Mars. The second, to throw herself at him and make him promise he would never leave. But she had come into the room with the firm decision to act like an adult woman, like *captain* Kathryn Janeway, goddamn it, and that's what she would do.  
  
"Chakotay! Well, what a... pleasant surprise. Ah... do you play scrabble?"  
  
Great. Just great. 


	7. A walk in the garden

Disclaimer: I didn't invent them. Don't sue, I just work here, ok?  
  
Comment: What can I say? I hope those who thought Janeway was getting well too soon will get a different perspective. She still has a long way to go, but, as they say, every journey begins with one small step. And no, she doesn't do any swooning in this one.   
  
Neither does Chakotay do any rescuing. Some of you may think Ckakotay is too weak here. Well, Kathryn's not the only one who needs to sort out a few things. When he goes to see her, he's in shock about what B'Elanna told him; he just wants to make sure she's all right, see her with his own eyes. After that, he has no plans, and now he finds himself paralyzed by guilt and confusion. Too bad...  
  
One little thought: what do you think *she* was sorry for? And could that be the beginning of her way out of this "black hole"?  
  
AND... there's a tiny little crossover with another sci-fi TV-show here... can you find it? ;-)  
  
Review: I read and seriously consider *every* review I get, either on ff.net or via e-mail. If you don't want to have a conversation, just share your point of view, you can do it anonymously, that's fine with me. Your loss though, I'm a great conversationalist!! :-)  
  
Maja, here's one with a little more of that introspection you like! :-)  
  
  
  
Chapter 7: A walk in the garden  
  
  
  
After two games, Kathryn had to excuse herself. In the bathroom, she threw up all the cookies she had eaten. All she wanted was to shut the door to her room, draw the blinds, crawl into bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. She could feel that dark, sticky poison cursing through her veins again. clotting them, seeping into her bones... But Gretchen had asked her to show Chakotay around the garden while there was still some daylight left, while the doctor helped her fix dinner. Obviously, her mother thought she and her former first officer needed to talk. And, judging by his very enthusiastic nod, so did the doctor.   
  
And so they walked around the garden. Once. Twice. Three times. Not that there was very much to see. Gretchen's roses, which grew amazingly well and healthy, although she only tended to them when she remembered to (she used to jump up and rush out during lunch, or even in the middle of the night, screaming "oh no, my poor roses!"); a swing hanging from an old oak tree; a few unnamed, sturdy-looking, somewhat dusty shrubs; and a great deal of rather long grass.  
  
When they were passing the swing for the third time, Chakotay stopped. A soft, grey dusk was settling around them. They had not spoken a single word.  
  
It was not unusual for Kathryn and Chakotay to spend an evening in companionable silence. On Voyager, they would have dinner, listen to some music, sometimes even read or work on reports and duty rosters, looking up from time to time and smiling at each other. When they separated for the night, they knew what they had shared could not be shaped into words, and they didn't need to. They knew. And even though they didn't know it themselves, they believed, they believed in each other and in the possibility of something so fragile a mere thought could shatter it.  
  
Only those quiet dinners and become rarer with the passing of time, especially in the last two years. When they did get together, it was usually after each had had dinner alone in their quarters, and Kathryn brought up personnel problems or other matters she considered too delicate to discuss in an ordinary meeting with the rest of the crew. More often than not, they would argue about command decisions; they always were able to stop the discussion before it became nasty, and Chakotay always assured the captain of his unfailing loyalty, but the ghost of a doubt had crept between them and into their hearts, it seemed. When they didn't talk, the silence was strained, and Chakotay had the feeling that she wasn't really in the same room with him. Too shy, too tired, too cowardly maybe, he felt incapable of reaching out to her. They were alone again. The belief was gone. Or was it?  
  
Now they stood on either side of the swing, facing each other. In the closing darkness, their bodies were a vague outline, their faces a blur.  
  
They spoke at the same time.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Surprised, they were quiet for a second. Then they spoke again:  
  
"Listen, I'm so..."  
  
"You know, I'm really..."  
  
They laughed awkwardly. After another pause, Kathryn said, "Ok, you first."  
  
"All right. I just wanted to say I'm sorry for-"  
  
Chakotay hesitated. For what? He *was* sorry, that much he knew, he was terribly sorry they had ended up this way, sitting speechless under a tree in the darkness, sorry for Kathryn, sorry for himself - but he found he had no words to describe his sadness. How had it happened? When had it started? *What* was he sorry for? I'm sorry for giving up? I'm sorry for leaving you alone? I'm sorry for being with Seven? I'm sorry you had to slash your wrists open for me to notice how sick you were, how desperately you needed my help? How do you say sorry for letting your best friend die? Suddenly, everything he could think of seemed poor, inadequate and pitiful. But there had to be something he could say, there had to be...  
  
"Let's not do this, Kathryn."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Tell each other what we're sorry for. Not now. There will be time for that. I... I just came here to see you, and I'm happy..."  
  
"Yes, you came to see if I was still trying to kill myself, and you're happy I'm not."  
  
That had come out harsher than she intended, but she didn't take it back. Instinctively, she placed her hands on her hips. Since she had first seen Chakotay, she had felt increasingly sick, as if different parts of her body were slipping away in different directions. Being angry made her feel better. More in control.  
  
Chakotay sat down on the swing and bent his head. For a second, his hand floated beside his body, as if he wanted to touch her. But she didn't see it. "Kathryn...", he said softly. She could barely hear him. His hands lay useless in his lap again. He raised his head. "Yes, I'm happy. I'm very happy."  
  
"I'm not going to do it again, so don't worry. It was a stupid thing to do. You can tell the others I said so", she said, flatly now. If he hadn't known it was her, Chakotay would not have recognized her voice.  
  
"The others?"  
  
"Well, who told you? Tom, I guess? He will have told B'Elanna, and Harry, you will have told Seven, and I'm sure *someone* has told Tuvok, so... These things get around pretty fast, don't they? Anyway, I'll tell them myself soon."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I'm going back to San Francisco. Starfleet headquarters. See what they have to offer."  
  
"Kathryn... shouldn't you... uhm, take it easy for a while? I don't know, stay here with your mother, try to relax..." He hated the way his voice sounded, weak and pleading, but he didn't seem to be able to stop it.  
  
"I went for a walk today, Chakotay. I leaned against a tree and *tried* to take it easy. You know what happened?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I threw up."  
  
"Well... maybe it was something you'd eaten."  
  
"My mother made those sandwiches, Chakotay."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes." After a pause, she continued, but her voice was friendly now, almost sympathetic, as if it was she who had come to help Chakotay.   
  
"You know me, Chakotay, I can't sit still and just *relax* for more than two minutes. I know I will have to think about this, but right now what I need is something to do. My sister is coming tomorrow, and she'll stay a couple of days, but after that, I'm going to start moving. And the first thing I'll do is supervise Voyager's overhaul. From what I saw there, they were chopping it up into a jigsaw puzzle."   
  
Thankful for the now complete darkness, Kathryn leaned against the oak as another wave of nausea washed over her. But she was getting used to fighting them off, and after a few moments she was standing on her feet again.  
  
All this felt terribly wrong for Chakotay. She didn't need to forget herself in work; that was what she had been doing for the last seven years. What she needed was to face her fear, until she knew it, and it knew her, and they were friends, she and her fear, or could at least work together. That was how the Kathryn Janeway he knew handled fear. *His* Kathryn never ran away.  
  
But who was he to talk about fear, about cowardice, about running away. Lately, he had been doing nothing else... He wanted to tell her that, whatever she did, he still believed in her, and that he'd be with her, that he had always been with her-  
  
"I guess by now my mother will be ready with dinner, and the doctor will have completely ruined it, so we can all order pizza", Kathryn said. "Anyway, there's not much to see anymore." She rubbed her arms, suggesting it was getting chilly, too.  
  
Chakotay got up from the swing. As he passed her to walk back to the house, Kathryn lifted her hand as if to touch him... But he didn't see it.  
  
He left after dinner. That night, Kathryn dreamt of standing alone in a huge borg cube, and the dead, multiple voice of the collective was speaking to her. It was asking a question:  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?" 


	8. Dèja vu

Disclaimer: Who cares? I didn't invent them, and yes, I'm using them without permission. So what?  
  
Comment: Well, what can I say? I already used the "writers block" excuse, so what about "real life" for this one? Existential crisis, as in "what does my life mean, what do I want to do with it"?  
  
The truth is, I kept thinking and thinking, wrote and rewrote Ch. 8 about a hundred times, first there was Tuvok in it, then Harry, then B'Elanna... Nothing seemed to work, until I realized that maybe what wasn't working was the structure: Kathryn having conversations with different people and thinking about her life. After all, the initial purpose was to write a J/C story that would make it all better.   
  
So I resorted to a writer's trick I had never used before - the "two months later"-trick. This is the result.  
  
Review: Now more than ever, I NEED YOU GUYS! Are you dissappointed? Does this work at all? Which parts do you like, which ones do you hate?  
  
  
  
Chapter 8: Dèja vu  
  
  
  
The sense of dèja vu was so strong that Chakotay swayed on his feet, gripped by something very much like seasickness. For a moment, everything was the same: the bright morning light, her hands delicately tracing the soft green leaves, the cup of coffee beside her, the wonder in her eyes. And so, as the same emotions he had felt then welled up in him again, all he could do was stand there, and let it wash over him: the pleasure it gave him just to look at her, the pain at the distance between them, the hope that that distance might one day be overcome... Uncertainty. Sadness. Exultation. Complete with sweaty hands and shaky knees, symptoms which she - miraculously - hadn't ever noticed. Or if she had, she had been very discreet about it.  
  
Now he would walk up and sqat beside her. The inexplicable shiver through his spine as she casually shakes the dirt off her hands. How is it that a simple gesture can fill a world with meaning and a heart with longing? They would step back into the shelter together. He would show her his design for the boat, tell her about his idea to travel down the river, do some exploring. Delight in her enthusiasm, the excitement in her voice, her closeness. And then - the communicator, Tuvok's voice. How he had hated it then, not Tuvok, but his voice, stern and impersonal, like the voice of God chasing Adam and Eve out of Eden, saying "it shall not be"...  
  
But not this time. This time it would be different. He would lay his hand on her shoulder, turn to her gently and simply speak his heart. No legends. No metaphors. No excuses. Stranded on this planet, their hearts was all they had anyway, and that was such a relief...  
  
  
Kathryn still hadn't noticed him. How long had she been lying there on the earth? She was staring past the plants into some distance he suddenly, dismally felt he could never reach, the cup of coffee cold and forgotten.   
  
Nothing was the same. She wasn't wearing a dress, but jeans and a sweater, since this was not New Earth's perpetual spring, but late December. There were no green leaves, just the bare earth. Her hair was shorter, and where was that little, concentrated smile she smiled to herself when she thought no one was looking? And yet, her brow was clear, and that fidgety nervousness, that halo of repressed sorrow he had noticed that last time he had seen her, almost two months ago, was gone. Would it reappear when she saw him? Was he the cause of her sorrow? Well, only one way to know...  
  
"Hello, Kathryn."  
  
She looked up and smiled, not in a surprised way though. He had thought she would at least start a little at the sound of his voice...  
  
"Chakotay!" Well, at least she seemed genuinely happy to see him.  
  
"More tomatoes?"  
  
"Well, that was the original intention." She sighed and directed her eyes back at the patch of dark earth in front of her. "But my mother told me it wouldn't make much sense at this time of year. In fact, there doesn't seem to be much that *would* make sense right now."  
  
She patted the ground with her right hand, and Chakotay sat down beside her. He was also out of uniform, in jeans and a thermal jacket. "So, are you waiting for spring, or for a miracle?"  
  
"Both. I planted tulips. Planted in December, there's a 30% chance that they will actually come out. I looked it up."  
  
"30%! I wouldn't worry, for you, those are extremely good odds."  
  
She turned her head and gave him that stern look she reserved for those occasions when she was amused by something he had said but didn't want to show it.  
  
"Now, I don't know what you mean by that, Commander! Are you implying that I usually take reckless odds?"  
  
"No, of course not, Captain! I wouldn't think of it."  
  
"Good." After a pause, she continued: "Anyway, I thought the least I could do was to come out and offer a little encouragement. Who would have thought that I'd turn out to be the kind of person that talks to her plants, huh?"  
  
"Well, your relationship with plants has always been - interesting. Don't you remember-"  
  
"Don't go there, Chakotay, I'm warning you!"  
  
They both laughed. "Ok, ok, sorry." Then, more seriously, he added: "It's so good to hear you laugh, Kathryn. You look - beautiful."  
  
Immediately, he flinched inwardly. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. He had wanted to say something less personal, on the lines of you look great, in a good shape, something like that. After all, last time they had met, they hadn't separated in a nice way. Too many silences between them, too much guilt and doubt. And although (with the help of some friends) Chakotay had thrown away many of those guilts and doubts in the past two months, and although she *did* look absolutely glorious to him, he didn't want to come at her too bluntly, possibly threatening her back into defensiveness.  
  
He had come back for her, had rehearsed a thousand speaches, ranging from the ardent and passionate to the very modest, bordering on victorian. He had tried to steal himself for anything, enthusiastic acceptance, thoughtfulness, shocked and immediate rejection. Only to discover that this, to sit beside her an hear her laugh, was all that he wanted, all that he needed right now. She was his peace. How could he ever have forgotten that?  
  
"Thank you", she answered simply. Then she added: "It's not difficult to look better than the last time we met. I was a mess."  
  
"Well, I wasn't at my best either. I felt like shit."  
  
She looked up, surprised, and arched her eyebrows. He used to be so softspoken...  
  
"Sorry. Are you scandalized?"  
  
"Yes, a little. But - it suits you."  
  
"What, to say 'shit'?"  
  
"Yes. You know, I've been doing that myself. It was a therapeutical proposal from the Doctor."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes. I felt horrible at first. I mean, a starship captain can't go around cussing and swearing like a tellarite transport pilot, can she? Even though I knew I wasn't on Voyager and officially on shore leave, it didn't feel right. Like there was someone observing me, invisible eyes, invisible hands taking notes to present as evidence in front of some invisible tibunal. He said something about a puritanic streak in my character."  
  
"Puritanic. Now, that's something I would never have thought of."  
  
She gave him another of those quizzical looks and shook her head. "Anyway, it seems to have worked, because now I can't fucking stop myself!"  
  
This time they laughed so hard they fell back and actually rolled around on the ground. When she had calmed down, Kathryn jumped up and held out a hand to him.  
  
"Come on, we'll miss lunch."  
  
"Oh, I don't know... I don't want to intrude..."  
  
"Nonsense. You're not intruding. And you're staying here. At least for a couple of days."  
  
"... Am I?"  
  
"Unless tomatoes and swearing is all you came here to talk about..." 


	9. On the coming true of fairy tales

Disclaimer: Ok, a friendly one - I love the work Paramount and TPTB have done, I am just adding a little personal touch. Please don't sue.  
  
Comment: You might have noticed that chapters come slowly as of late. You see, my professors insisted that I do some non-trek reading for my doctor's thesis (I don't know what got into them), and, in a more general way, I have decided I need to take things easy for a while. That doesn't mean I'm abandoning Kathryn and Chakotay at this point, only that the chapters will come every three weeks or so, instead of every week as it was in the beginning. I hope this will not keep you from checking in on the progress of the story now and then. I you want me to notify you when a new chapter is up, just write me a short mail and let me know : soavezefiretto@hotmail.com  
  
Review: Use the feature on ff.net, or write me a mail - just let me know what you think, what you liked, what you think I could improve, what you hated. Two exceptions: this IS a J/C story, so comments of the "J/C is unbelievable, C/7 is much better"-kind don't really help me a lot. Ditto for "J. would NEVER try to commit suicide!" Well in my story she does, deal with it. Or better yet, write your own story...  
  
  
  
Chapter 9: The coming true of fairy tales  
  
  
Gretchen Janeway stood a the back porch, watching the sun set and wondering if Kathryn and Chakotay would be back for dinner. Probably not. For the past four days they had done nothing but walk and talk, talk and walk, and when they remembered to eat or to sleep it was at the oddest time possible. She would find them making pasta and salad in the kitchen at four o'clock in the morning, or come out of their respective bedrooms at eight in the evening, with tousled hair, Chakotay yawning a "good morning" that at least tried to be polite, Kathryn just grunting something inarticulate, probably "coffee!".  
  
They talked all the time, with their mouths full, with their hands, with their eyes. Even when they were not looking at each other, even when for a (very rare) moment they were not in the same room, there was a communication between them. Gretchen, who had never been on Voyager and didn't know that there were times when everyone on the bridge could feel the same silent conversation going back and forth between the captain and the first officer, felt like an uninvited witness to some ancient, sacred ritual. There was something almost supernatural in the way Kathryn would turn around seconds before anyone else could hear Chakotay's footsteps in the hall, and Gretchen had to repress a gasp of surprise whenever she saw Chakotay make the same unconscious movement with his hand whenever Kathryn brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, even when he was turning his back on her and had no way of knowing what she was doing.  
  
But it was not only uneasiness which prompted her to leave the two of them alone as much as she could. She had this secret hope that one day she would come back into the living room to find them holding hands, all flushed with childish emotion, cutting off each other's words and laughing sillily: "Mother - Gretchen - we have something to tell you!" Kathryn would adress her as "mother", like she always did when she thought the occasion was momentous, and there would be a happy glow in her eyes...  
  
But before her daydream reached the stage where she saw her daughter dressed up in white, walking down an aisle with a bouquet in her hands, Gretchen shook herself out of it, breathing in the sharp, odourless air of midwinter. This was no fairy tale, these were two grown up persons who had suffered greatly, been alone, made mistakes, and were trying to reach out to one another, to find and offer some comfort. She knew better than to make up fancy stories for her daughter, if only because Kathryn had never shown any inclination for fancy in the first place. Even as a child, she valued hard fact over fiction, and could hardly be induced to sit still long enough to listen to the end of a fairy tale, while her sister was always pleading for one more. Only after she had turned twenty she had taken up reading for pleasure, but then with a passion, as if to compensate for all the wonders she had missed out on.  
  
Whatever Kathryn did, Gretchen mused, she did with a passion: studying, doing research, being a cadet or a Starfleet captain, even - but no, she didn't want to let her thoughts drift that way. *That* was not something Kathryn had *wanted*, it had been - an accident, a moment of uncontrolled rage and grief. It was over, and there was no need to think of it. She shivered and buried her hands in the pockets of her thermal jacket.  
  
"May I take the liberty of announcing that dinner is ready", the doctor's voice spoke behind her. "I don't suppose either one of our great explorers of the galaxy out there told you if we could expect them back at a reasonable hour?"  
  
Gretchen smiled. She would never have believed she could be as fond as she was of someone as dry and uttrly irritating as the doctor.  
  
"Well, they said something about a short walk."  
  
"Then we might as well save them something for when they arrive at two o'clock in the morning."  
  
As they walked towards the kitchen the doctor said: "Can I ask you a personal question?"  
  
Gretchen laughed.  
  
"Well, doctor! I thought you and I were already as up close and personal as it gets - without having sex, that is."  
  
It only took the doctor a few seconds to recover. As he started putting plates and cups on the table, he retorted: "That could be arranged, you know. There are this additions I made to my holographic matrix- "  
  
Gretchen cut him off with a stern look she didn't really mean.  
  
"What was it you wanted to know, doctor?"  
  
"What do you think will come of it?"  
  
She didn't need more to know what was on his mind: basically, he wanted to know if white dresses, bouquets and walks down aisles were to be expected.  
  
"I was about to ask you the same thing."  
  
"Me? How would I know? You know her better... you're her mother!"  
  
"And you're her doctor. And his. And their friend. And you've seen them and talked to them every day for the last seven years. Yes, she's my daughter, and that means I should know her, doesn't it, that I should know how to help her...? But I don't, I don't know her anymore, I don't know what she thinks, what she feels, I don't know what to do- "  
  
The doctor put a hand on Gretchen's, which was laying limply beside the plate full of untouched food.  
  
"But you have done so much!"  
  
"What? What did I do except stand aside and watch her and hope she would get better?"  
  
"Which was exactly what she needed! You were the only one who didn't expect her to be something she didn't want to be anymore, to fill a role she couldn't cope with. She didn't have to do anything to be your daughter and be loved, and just that has helped her more than any therapy I could devise!"  
  
It was silent in the kitchen. The ancient clock ticked away one minute. Finally, Gretchen said:   
"Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"Look what you've done, now you've made me cry."  
  
"Let me say that you look absolutely adorable when you cry: those squinting little red eyes, the shiny nose... it must go in the family."  
  
"Charmer."  
  
"It's a very recent addition to my program, do you like it?"  
  
"Oh, I love it!"  
  
"So - you didn't answer my question."  
  
"What question?"  
  
"What do you think will come of it?"  
  
"Well, using the new vocabulary my daughter seems so fond of lately - I have no fucking idea."  
  
"Couldn't agree more. Dessert?"  
  
"Please." 


	10. Of silences and voices part one

Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me. I'm just playing. Please don't sue.  
  
Comment: Ok, this is a long one. So long, in fact, that I had to cut it in two parts. Kath and Chak finally take over and tell us all those things we've been dying to know :-) There's a good deal about B'Elanna in this one, too. I hope you enjoy it!  
  
Review: For all those who have been trying to keep up with my shamefully erratic posting, a BIG, BIG thank you!!!! Your comments and encouragement have been invaluable to me. For those who are new to this story, what are you waiting for? Tell me what you think, write a review, email me, write me a letter (I'd love that, really, I'll give you my adress if someone actually wants to do that, I'll pay for it, too) - just show me you're there :-)  
Chapter 10: Of silence and voices (part one)  
"So, how did it go?"  
  
B'Elanna had sent Tom out to take Miral for a walk. He had dutifully pretended to grumble and mutter about lovers who became dictators as soon as they were wives and about the cosmic injustice of it all - but he knew that she had been looking forward to this conversation with Chakotay, and she needed to be alone with him, at least for a while.  
B'Elanna had taken the captain's attempted suicide very hard, her feelings of anger, grief, guilt and confusion had only subsided very slowly. For a long time, she couldn't stand to even hear her mentioned. When Tom went to visit her, taking Miral with him, she stayed at home, declaring she had problems of her own and was not ready to waste her time on the "mentally unstable".   
  
This made Tom sad, but he knew she didn't mean to be cruel. B'Elanna had always had problems adapting to changes, in herself, in others, in her circumstances. And now she was not only back on earth, basically unemployed and walking a legal tightrope; not only was she a new, inexperienced, overreacting and slightly panicky mother - on top of all that she had to face the fact that someone close to her, one of the few people she permitted herself to love without restrictions, had been suffering terribly, right next to her, every day. And she hadn't noticed. She hadn't known.  
  
She tried to conceal her distress from her husband. They never talked about it. They didn't need to. A couple of weeks ago, B'Elanna had left Miral at the day care center. She was tired out, she said, she needed to do something for herself, if only for a couple of hours. She wanted to go through the excerpts of all the engeneering magazines she had missed. No, Tom shouldn't worry, he should go to that meeting with the production people, she would be just fine. When he had come home, he had found her sitting on the sofa, next to the stack of PADDs, her hands folded in her lap. He could see that she hadn't touched even one of them. As he walked towards her, she looked up and said: "There's nothing in there I don't already know. Nothing I could use. Nothing." Then she stood up, went into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, took out a plate and smashed it against the floor. And then another. And another. She smashed all the plates and all the glasses, and two bottles, one soda-water, one ketchup. Then, gruesomely bespattered with the red stuff, she had looked at Tom with dry eyes. he went to her, laid his hands on her face and said gently: "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. It will be all right. I promise." And then, finally, she cried.  
  
When Tom saw the glow in B'Elanna's eyes when he said that Chakotay had mentioned something about paying them a visit as soon as he came back from seeing the captain, he knew that she was finally ready to talk. And he knew that she needed it to be Chakotay, just as Chakotay needed it to be her. It was not the husband she needed now, it was the comrade.  
"So, how did it go?"  
  
"Great. We had great weather, and the surroundings are really beautiful, so we did a lot of hiking, and we- "  
  
"Don't do that, Chakotay! If you're going to give that kind of crap, you can just leave, ok?"  
  
He chuckled. "All right, all right. I was just trying to lighten the mood."  
  
"Do I look like I want my mood to be lightened up?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good. So why don't we start this conversation again and pretend you are a normal person?"  
  
"Fine with me."  
  
"Ok. So - how did it go?"  
  
****************************************************************************************************  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Kathryn, we're too old for this! You *know* what I mean. Just tell me!"  
  
Kathryn sighed. Sisters. Why were they always claiming they knew what you were thinking better than yourself? Why were they always nagging, wanting to know absolutely every detail about your personal life - even when you *had* no personal life, *especially* when you had no personal life? Why, why did they have to be such a nuisance, and why were they always so damned - right??  
  
"Phoebe... I really don't know what to say. Everyone keeps staring at me, making big, round eyes at me, as if I was about to make some big announcement... well, I have no announcement! What is it everyone expects from me?"  
  
"It's not *everyone*, it's not on the news yet, Kath. It's just mum, the doc, and me, and we're not *staring* at you, we're just... mildly curious."  
  
"*Mildly* curious?" There was righteous indignation in Kathryn's voice.  
  
"Ok, ok. Very curious. *Extremely* curious. Are you going to tell me now? Pretty please?"  
  
Kathryn had to laugh in spite of herself. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, in her old room in her mother's house. She didn't like to call it "my house" anymore, she had been gone for too long, it wasn't right somehow. The pale light of the winter sun poured through the window. All of a sudden, she felt young and careless, twelve years old again, all the homework done and nothing to do but sit here and watch the sun set. How often had she sat like this with her sister, on a winter evening, talking about school, about their friends, neighbors, parents, and about all the wonderful things they wanted to do? - Not often enough, not nearly, Kathryn thought, and with the regret came all the years, and she felt the weight of them again.  
  
Phoebe was still looking at her impatiently.  
  
"It went - well enough."  
  
"Oh - Kath!!!" With a cry of despair that was almost a scream, Phoebe flung herself face down on the bed, and began to pound on the mattress with her fists. Then she sat up and faced her sister silently. This was "the look", it was sort of a family feature, and it meant joking time was over.  
  
"It felt good", she began hesitantly. "I didn't realize how much I missed him, how apart we had grown. It felt good to be that close to him - to someone again."  
  
As the light grew dim, the two women's outline gradually lost all sharpness, until they were just shadows against shadows.  
  
"I didn't realize... how detached I'd become, you know? I used to consider Voyager my home, and the crew, they were more than a crew, they were a family, *my* family. And at the same time, I couldn't be just a part of that family, I had to be more than that, I had to stand apart. I thought I understood what it meant to be a starship captain, my God, I had no idea... At first I didn't notice, I was busy getting used to the situation, and then I didn't notice because I had Chakotay, and then..."  
  
Kathryn's voice trailed off. By now it was dark.  
  
"And then what?"  
  
And then I had too much of him. He was everywhere: I met him every morning on the bridge, we had lunch, we had dinner, and after dinner we sat together for hours... and even when we were not together, I knew he was on the ship, somewhere close, and he would come if I called him... I don't think I've ever been so scared in my whole life."  
  
Phoebe nodded, although Kathryn wouldn't be able to see it.  
  
"Then something happened... I- I'll tell you sometime... anyway, it was too much, I had to stop it. You understand that, don't you? Don't you?"  
  
"Yes, I understand."  
  
"It was ok for a while. At least I thought it was. We could still be friends, that was what mattered, and I thought I'd get over- everything else."  
  
After a pause that seemed to stretch forever, Kathryn continued.  
  
"It's hard to put into words, because it happened so slowly. It was not just Chakotay, it was everything, everything seemed to be... slipping away. There were times I didn't know what I was doing, or why. I was always grinding my teeth, and everyone seemed so far away, Tom and B'Elanna so in love, Tuvok so self-sufficient, Harry so young... I remember one day, I was feeling particularly bad, positively sick. My mind was still clear enough to see that I was going somewhere I didn't want to be, so I took the day off. I believed that all I had to do was face whatever was happening to me, call it by it's name, and then it would disappear. I sat in my quarters and tried to think about some nice music to help me focus. I knew there was one particular piece that I loved, something sad that always made me feel better, something with violins; but I couldn't remember the name of the piece, I couldn't remember who had composed it, I couldn't even remember how the melody went. I just couldn't. I couldn't remember."  
  
Both women shivered and felt instinctively for each other's hands in the darkness. Neither called for lights, they just moved closer on the bed.  
  
"But you did remember in the end?" whispered Phoebe, like a child who wants to twist the end of a scary tale she knows only too well.  
  
"No. I just sat there, and after a while I stopped thinking about the music. I didn't think about anything. Then I got up, went on the bridge and told Chakotay that I would be on duty after all." 


	11. Of silences and voices part two

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Paramount and TPTB own it all. Yay them.  
  
Comment: This one is LONG!! I'm getting introspective here... I'm not in love with this chapter, but I felt it was time to pay a little more attention to Chak, to clarify their feelings for each other, to begin tying up some loose ends. I *tried* to make it shorter, I really did... you should see the first draft :-)   
  
I haven't seen the whole show, so I don't know what really happened with the Maquis, if they still exist when Voyager arrives home. For the sake of the story, let's just assume they do, ok?  
  
Again, a little wink to my other favorite sci-fi TV-show in the last line. Try a guess, anyone? ;-)  
  
Oh, and try to be patient with the next one. I feel I'll *have* to deal with the Seven situation, and that's going to be TOUGH!!  
  
Review: As always... I couldn't do it without you; I couldn't do it *better*, that is. Tell me what you like, what you don't: style, storyline, characterization, rhythm...  
Chapter 10: Of silence and voices (part two)  
"Did you know that when Tuvok went to see her he didn't talk to her for two days?"  
  
"What do you mean with 'he didn't talk to her'"?  
  
"I mean he didn't talk. Nothing at all. Not one word."  
  
B'Elanna tried to read amusement in Chakotay's face, some hint that this was a strange joke he and the captain had worked out together. With sudden dismay, she realized that he was serious.  
  
"But why? Why would he go visit her, just to give her the silent treatment? That's - that's cruel! Tuvok wouldn't do that. I mean, *I* thought I was angry with her, but- "  
  
Chakotay laid a hand on hers.  
  
"It's not what you think, B'Elanna. From what she told me, he said it was an ancient ritual."  
  
"Oh, I see, meant no doubt to help somebody make a smooth transition from just plain misery to utter despair."  
  
Chakotay's smile reassured B'Elanna even more than his words.  
  
"Actually, he said it is a ritual of friendship. Vulcans believe in the healing power of silence; it clears the mind, helps to focus. By being silent around someone, you show this person that you value her essence, not what you can get from her. The longer you keep up this 'silent-treatment', the more appreciation and true friendship you show."  
  
"Oh." B'Elanna's initial anger gave way to thoughtfulness.  
  
"But I suspect he made it up."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tuvok. It sounds very logical and - ritualistic, but how logical is it for Vulcans to have a ritual about friendship. Come on, friendship is not logical, it's about as emotional as you can get! But he *is* her friend, and he knew that she needed that, someone to just be there, not asking any questions, not wanting any explanations. He wanted to remind her that he'd be there for her no matter what, and since he didn't know how to say it, he decided - not to."  
  
"You've given this some thought, haven't you?"  
  
"I have given a lot of things some thought. Including Tuvok. I think I have misjudged him. Kathryn said, after Tuvok left she broke down and cried for the first time after- well, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
A shadow crossed B'Elanna's face, and Chakotay wondered how long it would take her to come to terms with what Kathryn had done to herself. He knew there was still a lot of anger inside her, and two years ago, he was sure she would never have forgiven. But two years ago she didn't have Miral. Miral didn't know about anger, she didn't know about mistakes, about right or wrong, about guilt, missed opportunities, regrets. Every time he saw her look at her daughter, Chakotay could see some of those weights slip from B'Elanna's shoulders. And he knew she would be all right. They all would. If a miracle like beautiful Miral was possible, what wasn't?  
After leaving Kathryn that last night, he told B'Elanna, all he longed for was a battle, a fight, anything, any cause would do, as long as he didn't have to be with himself, with that pitiful self who hadn't managed to reach out to this woman standing next to him, to ease her pain, to offer some comfort. She had given him so much: freedom, peace of mind, a center, a balance. Only with her he had known what it was not to be afraid. And how it grieved him not to be able to give any of that back to her!  
  
His mistake, he reflected, had been passivity. When he had first met her, and then, when he got to know her better and finally came to the conclusion that he must love her, he had chosen to just sit back and enjoy this new and wonderful thing he had found. It was so unexpected, so undeserved, it seemed to him, that it didn't occur to him that, instead of lingering discreetly in the back, he could have stepped forward, shown her, told her. Their situation - yes, it was difficult, but he didn't even try to find a way. He always said he would be there for her, no matter what, but right when she needed him most, he let her down. How could he have been so selfish, how could he have been so convinced that it was him who suffered the most, who loved the most?  
  
Then they talked about Chakotay's visit to some old Maquis comrades. He had been prepared for feelings of guilt. After all, he had been wearing a Starfleet uniform for seven years, having once solemnly declared he would never put it on again. Promises were part of what he was, and he expected to feel bad for breaking this one. Secretly, he had even hoped they would convince him to join up with them again. That, it seemed to him, would end all his worries in one clean strike.  
  
The welcome had been friendly enough. They seemed happy to see him, more than ready to accept him back, and to view his wearing of the Starfleet uniform as a necessary evil. As long as he was ready to share his information with them... hell, in his situation, he was almost predestined to be a double agent! And while listening to them, Chakotay felt - not excited, not interested, not revolted... he felt bored. He had heard it all before, he had been here before, but this was not his idea of creating a better world. He knew now that this was not how it was done.  
  
As he spoke, he looked at B'Elanna and saw understanding in her eyes. Rebels, outcasts that they had been, the time on Voyager had changed their sense of justice, of what was right, of what they expected from themselves. For Tom and B'Elanna, it was their family, to see Miral grow up into a person who would know her own worth. For Chakotay, it was loving Kathryn. Simple as that.  
  
When he said goodbye to his former comrades, they knew he was not coming back. They would keep each others secrets and part forever.  
  
****************************************************************************************************  
  
"Did you talk about... plans, you know, the future, what you want to do now?"  
  
Kathryn knew what Phoebe wanted to know: had they talked about *them*, their future *together*, their plans as a *couple*? What was the result of those four days of incessant talk?  
  
Well, when he sat beside her and told her she was beautiful, and his voice was warm again, not thin and tortured like it had been two months ago, her heart had begun to beat so fast and hard she could hardly hear her own words. She didn't know what to expect, but she was sure *something*, anything must happen. When, if not now?  
  
But as the hours passed and the day became a night, and then day again, all that - what he thought about her, if he would touch her, how he looked at her, how often he looked at her - all that grew less and less important, and expectation gave way to a different kind of excitement: the simple, deep pleasure of conversation, of telling old, old stories that seemed so wonderfully new. And while they were telling them, they felt, fresh, renewed - younger, so much younger.  
  
They were not, of course. But, as irrational as it would seem, after all they had been through, both of them were full of a sense of new beginnings, of so many chances and possibilities. And after all the old stories, all the "do you remember when's" and the "you know how it was", they scolded each other for being two sentimental old bags of mush, and then, yes, then they talked about the present - and the future.   
  
Suddenly, after so many painful silences, it seemed there was nothing they could *not* talk about. Kathryn told him about that broken bottle in her dark quarters, and of how she wished there were still marks on her wrists, so she would be reminded every day never to let it come so far again. Chakotay told her about Seven, of how he loved her and didn't want to hurt her. Then Kathryn told about Tom's visit, how horrible and distant she had been, how she couldn't help blaming him for finding her, for seeing what a mess she had made of herself.  
  
When she asked about his plans, Chakotay was surprisingly shy at first. Finally, he confessed: the chief editor of a big publishing company had proposed he should write a book. He had heard a speech he had given at one of those "Welcome Home" receptions, and had liked his style. The book could be about whatever he wanted, his childhood, Starfleet Academy, the Maquis, or something completely different; the only condition was that it had to have at least one chapter, about thirty pages, about Voyager in it. And all while dismissing the idea as utterly absurd ("me? a book? well, of all the silly things...!"), he had sat down to write, and had found himself five days later with a manuscript of fifty-odd pages, and *much* more to say.  
----- "So I figure I'll write the book, then I'll show it to you and - well, everyone, B'Elanna, Tom, Harry... and then I'll see about actually publishing it. The way I see it now, it's more like - a gift, a way to give back *some* of what I got from them... from you."   
  
After a small pause, in which Kathryn tried not to blush, he continued: "It's an amazing feeling, Kathryn, I - I wish I could describe it... I didn't know I had all these words inside me, and that just writing them down could make me so happy!"  
  
Kathryn smiled. Seeing him happy made her happy. He was still talking in "when's" and "if's", but it was already "my editor", "my book". And, though unexpected, the idea of Chakotay being a writer did seem very appropriate. He had always been at least as much a poet as a warrior.  
  
Her own plans where less glamorous, and it took some doing on Chakotay's part to finally get her to talk about them. They consisted it asking Starfleet Command for a quite post on earth, for the time being. She knew she was going to want to be in space again sooner or later, but she had learned her lesson. No need to rush into anything, no need for any irreversible decisions. For once, she was willing to do what her doctor told her and take it easy for a while.  
  
A very short while, no doubt, Chakotay had reflected with a mixture of amusement and worry. Given a quiet, easy job, Kathryn Janeway was one to quickly succeed in transforming it into something difficult and challenging. No amount of harsh lessons and good advice would ever change that. But, she had made it clear that she would be on earth. They would both be on earth. -----  
"We talked almost nonstop for four days, Phoebe, we talked about everything, about everyone, about things I thought I wasn't ready to share with anyone... and you know which was the only word we never used, not once?"  
  
"Which?"  
  
"'We'. We never once used the word 'we'. It was always, 'I'll do that, you'll do this, do you remember when he or she...' Never 'we'."  
  
"Maybe you didn't need to say it. Maybe it was there all the time anyway, and you thought that saying it out loud would... I don't know, spoil it."  
  
Kathryn looked at her sister and noticed that she could actually see her face. She felt a warmth on her cheek and turned to the window.  
  
"Well, look at that", she said. "The sun's coming up." 


	12. Everyone's invited

Disclaimer: Boss nicht hier. Andere Baustelle...  
  
Summary: This is the beginning of the big opera finale, where gradually all the characters come on stage, say their goodbyes, the misunderstandings are explained away and the lovers finally, finally fall into each other's arms. At least, that's what usually happens in the opera... unless you get the wrong opera, the kind where everybody dies... On the other hand, this might turn out to be just an ordinary picnic. It might even rain.  
  
For starters, this is another Gretchen-Doctor chapter. I find I've grown quite fond of the couple, I'll miss them...  
  
Comment: For those of you for whom this story still rings a bell - yes, I'm back!! I've been through a string of, well, you know, that kind of... things. But these people just wouldn't let go until they got their happy ending. Well, all I can say is, I'm working at it.  
  
Review: Too long? Too short? Too much dialogue? Too little? How about my characterization? Did you laugh? Cry? Did you feel anything at all? Come on, there must be SOMETHING you have to say! :-)  
  
AS always, a HUGE thanks to Molly, for being out there and sharing the vibe.  
Chapter 11: Everyone's invited  
"Ok, that's it. Get out of my kitchen NOW!"  
  
"But, mum..."  
  
"No buts. Go to your room. Take a bath, try out everything in your wardrobe and everything in mine, even everything in the doctor's if it's necessary. I don't want to see you again until your washed and combed and perfumed and astonishingly beautiful."  
  
"You mean I'm not astonishingly beautiful now?"  
  
Gretchen paused and took in her daughter's tangled hair, sweaty forehead, pudding-stained T-shirt.  
  
"No."  
  
Kathryn blew a strand of hair out of her face.   
  
"I love you, mum. You're so encouraging and supportive. Anyway, I don't care. There's still so much to do, and I didn't invite them to show myself off."  
  
"Oh, yes, you did."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
Gretchen noticed the sharp note in Kathryn's voice and tried not to take it personally. She was back in command mode, and that was a good sign. But it was also a sign that she was rather nervous.  
  
"Look, honey, you and I know that this is more than just a picnic, so you can stop pretending otherwise. You've got every reason for certain amount of - stage fright. Once they are all here, you'll remember why they are your friends and why you love them, and you'll have fun, just like you used to, and everything will be fine. But right now, you need a little time for yourself."  
  
"Stage fright?"  
  
"That's what the doctor called it."  
  
Kathryn kissed her mother and turned to go. "Smart man."  
  
As she watched her daughter leave, Gretchen smiled to herself. "That he is."   
  
Then, with a sigh, she turned to her tomatoes and onions again. There were going to be at least six kinds of salads, there was to be a barbecue, and ice cream, and two different pies (Kathryn had actually helped her bake them), and fruit. There were two tables in the back garden, blankets in case someone wanted to sit on the ground, and all the chairs they could find in the house, plus some borrowed from the neighbors. The neighbors were gone for the day. They had been watching the preparations with growing unease for the two preceding days, and had come to the conclusion that the whole of Starfleet was to be invited and that they better be somewhere else. "You can use our garden", they had said.  
  
Gretchen shook her head over the enormous bowl full of little juicy red cubes. Well, who could blame Kathryn for overdoing it a little. She was the captain, ship or no ship, and she had been physically and emotionally unavailable at a time when her crew needed her most. Now she wanted to show them that she was back, ready to be a part of the family again - if they would have her. As if anyone could resist her: her enthusiasm, her smile, the vibrancy in her every movement. For the past few days, Kathryn had been in a whirlwind of activity, making calls, arranging for overnight stays, having mysterious meetings with Starfleet high brass... It was a beginning, and no matter how insecure or guilty or embarrassed she might still feel, she would pull it through. She would do the right thing. Like always.  
  
But for Gretchen it was also an end. In spite of the crises, in spite of the tears and the constant anxiety and the sadness, she had enjoyed having her daughter at home with her. At this stage in their lives, it was an unexpected gift to get to know each other again, to be close, to share intimately who they were now, as grown women, their pains, their regrets, and what they had learned. Few mothers and daughters had a chance like that. And now her little girl was leaving again - as it should be. But Gretchen couldn't help but fear the emptiness she would leave behind, and the distance. She knew that her time was over. On the other hand, someone else's time might just be beginning...  
"So, you finally did get her out of the kitchen! How did you manage?"  
  
"Well, when the usual threats about physical punishment and Borg invasions didn't work, I told her I'd let the ice cream melt. And then I insinuated I had one of the letters she's been scribbling and throwing away, and that I could show it to a certain ex-First Officer..."  
  
"You are a mean woman, Gretchen. You are my hero."  
  
"Why, thank you, doctor. I do what I can."  
  
He took an onion and started slicing it to mix it with the tomato cubes.  
  
"So... tell me, do you?"  
  
"Do I what?"  
  
"Do you have one of those letters?"  
  
"---"  
  
"Did you read it? Was it to Commander Chakotay? What did it say?"  
  
Gretchen just stared at him.  
  
"What- ? Wait a minute, why are you looking at me that way? You don't- you don't think I ask you this out of, of- morbid curiosity, do you?"  
  
She raised an eyebrow, knife still in her hand.  
  
"Madam, I would remind you that your daughter is still my patient! Unless you believe that my services as a physician are no longer required here, it is still my duty to monitor her physical as well as mental health. That was my only purpose in- "  
  
"Doctor, doctor!" She put away the knife and laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, it was just a joke!"  
  
He stared back at her in confusion.  
  
"I never took any of Kathryn's letters, I never even talked to her about them. Or the ice cream. It was just a manner of speaking. And I wasn't implying morbid curiosity on your part. I would never do that."  
  
"Oh... well, I certainly hope so." Trying to scrape together what rest of dignity he had, the doctor turned back to his onions. For a couple of minutes, they worked in silence. When the bowl was full, Gretchen put it aside, then turned to the doctor.  
  
"So, you want to tell me?"  
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
"Why you overreacted so tremendously right now."  
  
"I didn't- "  
  
"Oh yes, you did. I know you too well by now. If you don't trust me enough to tell me, that's something else, but don't try to tell me nothing is wrong."  
  
The words were harsh, but the voice was warm and full of concern for him, and that - someone taking an interest in himself, his feelings - was something he had never been able to resist. He looked at her for a moment, and before he spoke, Gretchen thought she'd never seen a sadder man.  
  
"The thing is, Gretchen, that I *do* think my services are no longer required here. No, don't say anything. You know I am right. The captain is over the hill. I have done what little I could, she's beginning to reshape her life - and so is everyone else. In a few hours, they will all be here, talking about their new lives, new jobs, their families, and I..."  
  
He shook his head and raised his shoulders in gesture of helplessness Gretchen found oddly endearing in a man usually so full of caustic remarks and dry wit.  
  
"And you what?", she urged him gently on.  
  
"I *have* no life, and I have no family, I don't even have a place to stay! For everyone else, this, coming home, is the perfect opportunity to make a new start; explore other paths, other choices. But I don't have a choice. I am a property of Starfleet. That they have not taken an interest in my whereabouts in all these months just goes to show you just how much of a priority I am, so, when they finally do come around to dealing with me, they'll probably just download all the data in my matrix, take the mobile emitter for examination, perfection and mass-fabrication, and in no time, there will be hundreds of doctors just like me. Won't that be fun. One big, *big*, happy family."  
  
The despair in his voice was unmistakable, despite his brave attempt at one of his customary sarcastic smiles.  
  
"But you do have a family now."  
  
"Do I?" He blinked. Gretchen didn't know if she should laugh or cry.  
  
"Doctor! Do you think I could ever forget what you have done for my daughter, for *me*? Do you think I don't know what would have happened to her if you hadn't been there, I- " She paused and took a deep breath.  
  
"You are a part of this family now, doctor, and not because I feel I owe you, but because- well, you just can't help it, and that's all! You've been here through all my cranky moods, through Kathryn's throwing up and sitting around in her pajamas for days on end, and now you're stuck with us, like it or not. This is your family, and this is your place to be, unless you choose to be somewhere else."  
  
She jabbed at her eyes in frustration.  
  
"And if you think I'll let anyone download you, or replicate you, or order you to be or do something you don't want to, then you are a very shortsighted man indeed!"  
  
For once at a loss for words, all he managed was: "Oh... ok." And then: "Thank you."  
  
"Oh, don't thank me. You don't know what you've gotten yourself into."  
  
The door chime buzzed.  
  
"See what you did? They are here, and nothing's ready! Go and tell Kathryn her friends are here, and do some entertaining until I fix up this mess."  
  
"Gretchen, I- "  
  
"What did I say? Go, go, go!"  
  
"RIGHT!" As he moved down the hall, he muttered to himself: "I'm beginning to understand what I've gotten myself into, all right." But as he opened the door, there was no trace of sarcasm or bitterness in his smile. For once, there was only happiness. 


	13. At the threshold

Disclaimer: By now it should be pretty clear that I *do* know that I don't own any of this legally, but as the german poet Heinrich Heine said "die Gedanken sind frei..." (meaning: "thoughts are free", so there you go).  
  
Summary: Harry arrives, and Kathryn puts in a short appearance in a bathrobe.  
  
Comment: Oh well... it's been long, I know. I am very sorry. I was planning a big opera finale, but I guess I just wasn't cut out for that kind of writing. This is how it is in my mind, so this is how I am going to write it. At least now it *is* in my mind, so I really hope to finish this in a couple of weeks. This is a short one about Harry, because I like him and I felt it would be a shame not to have him in the story. Also to show how I imagine the reaction of someone not so directly involved to Kathryn's ordeal and recovery.  
  
Review: Flame me, I deserve it. Whoever's out there and still reading this deserves my eternal gratitude. Whoever wants to comment on it will surely go to heaven.  
  
Chapter 12: At the threshold  
  
Standing at the doorstep, there was nothing but what at first sight seemed like *thousands* of the most gaudy flowers, held together by two hands and walking on a pair of legs. Once the doctor had relieved him of this vegetal burden, Harry's laughing face was revealed.  
  
"I didn't want to risk bringing something to eat that I loved and would upset everybody else's stomach, so volunteered to be in charge of the decoration instead."  
  
"Very wise indeed. The only problem being, this is not decoration, it's a plantation!"  
  
"And I am glad to see you *too*, doctor!"  
  
Harry wasn't even embarrassed for not being able to stop laughing. For two days he had been on edge, eating little, sleeping less, thinking about how it would be to meet everyone again, now that everything was so different.   
  
After spending some time with their families and loved ones, everyone seemed to have drifted back to San Francisco, some with a set purpose, but most of them pulled more or less by inertia, ostensibly because it was the location of Starfleet headquarters. But to Harry it seemed as if there was something else, a kind of waiting for something that had no name. At least, that's how it was for him, and he had gotten the same feeling from everyone else he'd met on some party, in front of some 'fleet bureaucrat who needed yet *another* deposition, in a theater lobby, in a restaurant. Even Tom and B'Elanna (whom he'd been seeing a lot, proudly asserting his role as "uncle Harry") had this restlessness about them, especially B'Elanna. Since she received the message about the picnic, she had been in the most terrible mood he had ever seen her in, while Tom did nearly all the housework, took care of Miral, was wonderfully patient and altogether angelical. Well, Harry had seen his share of strangeness. Wonders never ceased, it seemed, even back in the Alpha Quadrant.  
  
Why, his own behavior had been quite interesting in the past month or so. He found himself requesting extensions to his leave, a couple of days, a week, then two, delaying his decision about which ship he wanted to be on. He knew he was ready to be out there again, and eager to put to use all the things he had learned while on Voyager. Besides, he was really looking forward to someone calling *him* "sir" for a change! On the other hand, he was aware of walking a thin line, his status and his privileges as "hero" were fading fast. Soon he would be just a newly promoted lieutenant that was sitting around Headquarters, doing nothing.  
  
And yet, he waited. When the invitation came, he knew what he had been waiting for. And that's when he started getting *really* nervous.  
  
Of course, there was "that". That thing that had happened to the captain. Or rather, that thing she had done to herself. When Tom told him, he hadn't given him any details. Not necessary, what he *did* tell him was enough to give him nightmares for weeks. How was he supposed to meet her now, to look at her, to talk to her? How could he ever make it up to her? How could he have let something so terrible happen to her? He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help feeling personally responsible. Here he was, so proud of what he had learned, of how he had grown up, *matured* and whatnot, and at the same time, someone right next to him was falling apart, and he had never had a clue. He had tried talking to Tom about it (around B'Elanna he avoided the issue instinctively), but the words just wouldn't come, his very thoughts seemed to freeze at the notion of what could have happened.  
  
So, yeah, Harry had been *very* nervous until seconds ago, when he had been standing at her front door, pressing the buzzer. But now, inexplicably, he felt just happy, the kind of happiness and anticipation he used to feel when he was a kid at another kid's birthday party (his own birthdays were never that pleasurable, he worried too much when he was the one giving the party). For days he had been gloomy and downcast, for the best of reasons, he thought, and now all he could think of was what fun they would have!  
  
Next thing he knew, the captain was running down the stairs and had him in a tight hug that left him breathless for a good ten seconds.  
  
"Harry, my God, it's so good to see you!"  
  
"It's good to see you too, captain. You look- "  
  
As she stepped back, Harry noticed that she was barefoot and wearing a bathrobe.  
  
"... uhm - great! You look great!"  
  
"Oh! Ah... yes. I was just ready to jump into the shower when I thought I heard your voice, and..."  
  
She blushed. But to Harry's immense relief, she looked just the same. For all he knew, she might have been standing on Voyager's bridge. Even in a bathrobe, her hair loose. wearing no make-up and little else besides, she never lost her poise, that certain quality that made people turn around and look at her whenever she entered a room, because surely something exciting was about to happen. The dark images he had been turning around in his mind were blotted out by the living image of captain Kathryn Janeway standing right before him, and then and there Harry decided that whatever had happened to her, whatever she had done, it was hers, it belonged to her alone. He would not judge her, as she would not judge him, and he would take her as she was now, as she had always been to him. That was the least he owed her.  
  
"Now, is this a way to present yourself in front of you crew? Do you think this is the appropriate way to gain their respect and attention?"  
  
Gretchen was coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.  
  
"Well, she certainly has my attention..."  
  
Kathryn's eyebrows rose ever so slightly.  
  
"... and she has always had my respect."   
  
This last part came out solemnly, almost like a declaration. Kathryn took Harry's hand and smiled warmly. A silent message passed between them. Later, many years later, they would speak about this moment. Right now, no words were needed.  
  
"Well, I'll better get back upstairs, I don't want to be capturing too much of your *attention*". She winked. "I'm sure my mom and the doctor will find something useful for you to do."  
  
"Of course, I know just the thing. You could start by finding a place for this *hothouse* you brought along."  
  
The doctor was still standing around indecisively and looking quite unhappy, his arms full of flowers. While the three of them walked off, and Kathryn disappeared up the stairs, no one noticed the two figures crossing the front lawn arm in arm, a tall blond woman and a dark-haired man, both carrying medium sized food containers. They stopped halfway to the door, and the woman leaned towards the man while he spoke to her. She nodded, and then they went on. They stopped at the threshold. 


	14. Connection

Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Don't sue. Don't interrupt. Can't you see I'm *busy*?  
  
Comment: The end is near, my friends! And this time I mean it, the last chapter ("Promise") is already written down, I only have to type it into the computer. (By the way, I wrote this at the airport, the plane to Frankfurt was three hours late.)  
  
Not much J/C in this one (a long one!), at least not directly. It's mostly about how other crewmembers see the Kathryn/Chakotay/Seven-situation. There's quite some Tom/B'Elanna stuff in here, and I really like some parts of it, so you *can* skip it, but you might actually enjoy it if you don't.  
  
And yes, I chickened out shamefully. If you read this, you'll know what I mean.  
  
Review: (see above) Come on, tell me so! I deserve it.  
  
Chapter 13: Connection  
  
The living room was deserted, except for one lonely figure, a woman sitting on the central couch. Tom walked up to her from behind, bent down, kissed her neck and whispered: "How come the prettiest girl of the party is sitting here all by herself?"  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "Waiting for just any guy to come and pick me up. I don't see anyone else, so I guess that's you."  
  
Tom flopped over the back of the couch to stretch beside his wife, his head in her lap. He felt a few cracks and creaks in his joints; he could have sworn they weren't there a couple of months ago. He decided he was probably coming down with something, a cold, maybe the flu.  
  
"Lucky me!" B'Elanna put a hand on his head and absent-mindedly ruffled his hair. Tom glanced up at her. She was staring into the distance, obviously lightyears away from the Janeways' couch, their living room, the planet earth. But some of the tension he had noticed building up inside her in the last couple of days was gone. If he had dared to put his head in her lap even the day before, he could probably have played soccer with that same head seconds later. But that the tension seemed to be easing didn't mean she was ready to talk about it. (He wasn't aware that he had taken to call all kinds of events connected with the captain "it" in his mind. An aseptic "it" was as far as he dared to go. He didn't dare recall the memories of what he had seen. He knew he would have to, eventually. But not yet. Not for a long time.)  
  
He decided to be careful. "Where's Miral?"  
  
"Out by the swing with Sam and Naomi. And Harry's out there, too, I think."  
  
"Wasn't Chakotay with Miral a minute ago?"  
  
For the first time she looked directly at him, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Chakotay and Tuvok went for a walk. And you know perfectly well because you were the one who told me exactly one hour ago."  
  
She tried to make her voice sound annoyed, but she wasn't really. She'd been on edge for days, and he knew that talking about the captain made her nervous. He didn't want her to be unhappy, that was all. She ran her fingers through his hair, with a purpose this time, slowly, tenderly.  
  
"It's all right."  
  
He craned his neck to blink up at her. "It is?"  
  
"Yeah." She paused. "We talked."  
  
"You and the captain?"  
  
"Yes." Another pause. "I feel better now." B'Elanna shook her head. "It's unbelievable. *She* goes through seven kinds of hell, *I* behave like the unsupportive, egotist jerk that I am, and it's still *her* who has to make *me* feel better."  
  
"You're not a jerk. You were just scared, and confused, and angry -"  
  
"*And* unsupportive, *and* unsensitive, *and* an egotist jerk. One would have thought that being a mother would have changed that."  
  
"B'Elanna..."   
  
Tom leaned on an elbow to sit up, but she gently pressed his shoulder until his head fell back into her lap. "No, it's ok, Tom, really. I'm not going to wallow in self pity, don't worry. It's just that I can't believe how... I mean, she's so..." She fought the lump of tears in her throat.  
  
"Yeah, I know. She is."  
  
After a minute, Tom spoke again. "So, where is she, anyway?"  
  
"In the kitchen. I think Seven is showing her some top secret recipe for a Borg pistachio ice cream dessert."  
  
"What!?" Tom jumped up as if he had recieved an electrical discharge.  
  
"Ok, ok, there is no Borg pistachio ice cream dessert. No reason for panic. They are just talking."  
  
"Talking?"  
  
"Yeah, talking." B'Elanna looked at her husband with mild amusement. "Is there a problem, Tom, sweetheart?"  
  
Tom opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he managed: "No, no problem. It's just that... well, I was... surprised, I guess, that's all."  
  
"Surprised? And why would you be so surprised, my love?" B'Elanna was barely repressing a broad grin.  
  
"Well... oh, for Gods sake, B'Elanna, *you* know! This is Seven and the captain we're talking about. I thought... well, after everything that's happened, I didn't think I'd ever see the two of them sit together and talk."  
  
"So, you thought they'd give each other the silent treatment for the next fifty years? Maybe have it out with a couple of bat'leths back by the swing?"  
  
"No, of course not. That's not what I meant. What I mean is-"  
  
What do I mean?, he thought. The captain and Seven: that used to be a logical unit. The captain was the one who had taken the decision to keep Seven severed from the collective, she had been her reference, first in her hate, her anger and distrust, then in her growing confidence, her need for help and advice, as a role model, as a friend. And it had not been only Seven who had learned from the other woman, not only her who sought out the other's company. There had been a special connection between them, right from the start. So when, mused Tom, did I start to think of them as antagonists, even enemies, two people who just don't make sense sitting together in the kitchen, talking?  
  
Well, that's an easy one: when Seven started dating Chakotay. And why would that be a problem? Well, it would be if the captain and Chakotay were - well, "together", and Seven had meanly sneaked up and taken Chakotay away from his rightful partner. Which was definitely *not* the case. Chakotay and the captain had never been "together". Well, they were together a lot, of course, it came with the job. So much the better when they actually became friends, so much the better if they could enjoy an occasional informal dinner, or a day off on the holodeck. It was bad enough to have a mixed crew, Starfleet and Maquis thrown together against their will. The captain had taken a great, though calculated risk when she chose the leader of what she then still had to consider "the enemy" as her fist officer.  
  
She trusted him, but there was more than that. Tom was sure he was not the only one to notice. It didn't take a degree in psychology to notice that there was something in the air when they were both in the same room, something that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your skin tingle. Something like electricity. A connection.  
  
The captain's no-nonsense attitude, her fierce discretion about anything concerning her personal life or her emotions, the very respect she elicited from her crew forbade any further speculation. There had never been rumours or corner talk about the captain and Chakotay, the way there had been about Tom and B'Elanna when they started dating. But, again, Tom was pretty sure he was not the only one to feel that something had been broken when he heard about Chakotay dating Seven. Something, well, something almost like a vow.   
  
At first he even refused to believe it, it just seemed too preposterous, like a bad joke. When finally Chakotay himself confirmed it, he had to accept it. They were were both his comrades, his friends, they had both stood by him in difficult times and accepted his own choices. It was the least that he owed them. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't shake an uneasiness, sort of a sick feeling, even through all the excitement of returning home, the birth of his daughter, ensuing chaos.  
  
That was why he went looking for the captain that day, why he went on Voyager and found her- Tom shook his head violently. B'Elanna, who had fallen into a reverie of her own at his side, was startled out of it by his movement. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm sorry. It's just that..." he sighed. "Well, I suppose it's a good thing."  
  
"What's a good thing?"  
  
"Seven and the captain. That they are talking."  
  
"Yeah. She's doing a lot of talking today, the captain."  
  
"You know what?", Tom said thoughtfully. "I think we needed this more than she did. Whatever her problems were or are, she can work it out. She'll find a way, she always has. This, this get-together, this is for us. So we can check on her, make sure she's all right."  
  
"I guess you're right." She paused. They could hear voices and laughter coming from the garden. Now Chakotay's voice raised above the others, saying something about ice cream. Naomi squealed in delight, and there was the sound of feet running into the house. Tom and B'Elanna caught a glimpse of the captain and Seven leaving the kitchen, smiling as the girl rushed past them. Tom thought they might have been holding hands, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
"Leave something for your mom!", Kathryn called after her.  
  
Tom leaned in to kiss his wife. "You heard the captain. If we don't go out there soon, there won't be anything left. Well, except for the Borg pistachio ice cream dessert, maybe."  
  
B'Elanna nodded, but didn't move. Her expression was serious again.  
  
"Do you think they know?"  
  
"Do I think who knows what?"  
  
"All of them." She gestured with her chin, indicating their crewmates, gathered in the back garden. "You know, about the captain... what happened to her." She was never going to say "what she did to herself". Never.  
  
"Well, Harry knows because I told him, you told Chakotay, and Chakotay told Tuvok. I suppose Chakotay told Seven, too."  
  
"No, I mean, the others, you know, Sam, Vorik, the Delaney's... I don't know, I have this feeling, almost as if... oh, it's probably nonsense", she said, getting up.  
  
"No, it's not. I know what you mean. It's like I said before, as if, for some reason, everyone needed to come here and check on her before... well, getting on with the rest of their lives. I don't think they know exactly what, but they do know that soemthing's not right."  
  
"That something *was* not right." A shadow of worry crept into B'Elanna's face.  
  
"Yeah, was. She'll be ok. There might be a few things she has to work out first, though..."  
  
Chakotay poked his head into the room. "Hey, here you are! I've been looking for you two all over. I don't mean to interrupt a romantic moment or anything, but I thought you'd like to know that Naomi organized something like and ice cream-eating contest, and Miral seems to be winning."  
  
Tom and B'Elanna excahnged a horrified look and ran out of the room. Chakotay was left behind, chuckling. The sun was already setting. A shaft of golden red light shot through the glass door that led to the garden. He closed his eyes. When he heard soft steps behing him, he didn't open them. He knew who it was. He had been waiting. 


	15. Slow and steady

Disclaimer: You don't care anyway, do you? I mean, *I* know that I don't own anything, but do *you* know I'm writing this?  
  
Comment: Well, it's been a helluva ride! What happened to that little, rather depressing vignette I had in mind when I started all this? Thank you all for getting this far with me, it's been intense!  
  
This is the last one, they get together, so, be warned: MUSH ALERT!!  
  
Review: Those of you who've been patient enough to bear with my outrageously slow updating: was it worth the wait? Is it too mushy, too dry? Those of you who've read the whole story through: does it work? What could I have done better?  
  
Molly, I owe you big time, and I'm still keeping my fingers crossed!  
  
  
  
Chapter 14: Slow and steady  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
Kathryn walked up to Chakotay, and they both stood silently while the sun set in a glorious wash of red, orange and purple. From where they were standing, they could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional clinking of glasses. Someone started to laugh; it was Harry. After that they heard the deeper tone of Tuvok's voice, though they couldn't make out the words. Must have been one of those good old vulcan jokes, because it absolutely broke up the party: a roar of laughter raised up into the night sky, already filling with stars.  
  
Chakotay smiled. "Seems like everyone's having a good time."  
  
"Yes, they are, aren't they?. God, I can't believe how nervous I was about this party. I worried about the food for days. If I had known that all I had to do was give them all some ice cream and a spoon..."  
  
"Spoons? What do you need spoons for?"  
  
Kathryn chuckled, then stepped closer to him and reached up to his face. He stood motionless while she rubbed something from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. She smiled. "Indeed."  
  
Chakotay hoped fervently that the semi-darkness in the room would hide his blush. Her touch made it very hard to concentrate on his next sentence.  
  
"How about you? Are you having a good time?"  
  
She thought about her answer for a few moments. "Yes. Well, I wouldn't call it "a good time", but... there were a couple of- things, a couple of conversations I felt I needed to have, and I did, so yes, it's been good. Besides, the party is just beginning, the night is young."  
  
He nodded. "I saw you talking to B'Elanna."  
  
Kathryn blew a strand of hair from her forehead. "I tell you, Chakotay, *that* conversation made my life ten years shorter." She shook her head. "But it was worth it. I guess I needed that too, to be confronted with how not only what I do, but also what I feel can affect other people. I suppose I forgot about that along the way, trying to be the perfect captain."  
  
He looked at her warmly. "Momentarily."  
  
"Yes, momentarily."  
  
After a pause, Chakotay spoke again. "What about those other conversations?"   
  
There was only one more conversation, and he knew with whom, but he wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it, so he was giving her the chance to skip it, to make up something else if necessary. But Kathryn hadn't come as far as this to skip things or to make things up. No more delays. Two ways led away from this living room, and she was prepared to take them both. Either way, she would walk out of here with her head high. Only on one of them, she would be carrying with her a broken heart...  
  
She took a deep breath. "Seven told me about her project. Well, as much as she could tell me, since it's oh so top-secret."  
  
"I think only her and a couple of top scientists, plus some very high command staff know all the details."  
  
Kathryn frowned. "I don't have a good feeling about this, Chakotay. She's still so young... oh, you know what I mean. She's not even Starfleet, she just got here, she's got no experience, and they are handing her a delicate project about nanotechnology no one knows anything about. What if they're using her? What if they are giving her this because it's too dangerous, because they're afraid to give it to their own people, and when it blows up in her face they'll just drop her, blame it all on her?"  
  
Chakotay looked thoughtful. "I've thought about something like that, too. On the other hand, given her background and her knowledge, she's the perfect choice for the job. She did acquire some skills about leadership and teamwork on Voyager. And although I'm the first one who's not in love with anything Starfleet is or does, I see no reason to distrust them at this time. She's the best, they know it, so they took her. I a great chance. Besides, she really wants this job. "  
  
"Yes, she seemed very excited. Well, as excited as Seven can look."  
  
"I think she's getting a taste for independence, too. She's actually looking forward to having her own place."  
  
Kathryn's heart skipped a beat. "Oh?", she managed.  
  
Chakotay pretended not to have noticed. "Here I thought I was doing her a favour, letting her share my place, and now it turns out, she never liked it. She says it was very disturbing to hear me snoring right through the wall."  
  
Another beat skipped. Or maybe two this time. Through the wall means separate bedrooms, right? Right?  
  
"You snore?" I never heard you snoring, she wanted to add, but it didn't seem like the right moment. Not yet.  
  
"Of course not! You *know* I don't snore! What she really hates about sharing apartment is the housework. We were always squabbling about who had to do the dishes or fill the processor, things like that."  
  
"Are you telling me that Seven of Nine is a slob?"  
  
"Must be a hidden streak of her personality that is just now emerging. Her place will be a mess in no time."  
  
"As long as nothing else is a mess..."  
  
"Well, she's got us. We'll look out for her. That's what friends do, don't they?"  
  
"Yes, that's what friends do..."   
  
Somehow, Kathryn had thought that talking about Seven with Chakotay would be much harder. Makes two mistakes in one day. Because talking to Seven hadn't been that hard either. While Kathryn had been going over thousands of variations of this one conversation, convinced that it would in one way or the other decide about the rest of her life, Seven had spent the last week assembling her team, and getting very comfortable with the idea of finally being the boss. There was a new air of efficency about her, quite different from the Borg idea of efficency. This was - professional. And when Kathryn finally mustered the courage to ask about Chakotay, Seven had simply looked at her and told her that it had been "interesting", but that with her new responsabilities she would have "no time for that sort of thing." There was a strange quality to that look, and even stranger it was that Seven should put her hand on the captain's after saying those words. Why would she do that?  
  
They had left the room hand in hand, and Kathryn felt as if she had been about to loose something very dear to her, but found it just in time.  
  
"How's your book coming?" Suddenly, Kathryn didn't feel like talking about Seven anymore.  
  
"Good, good. Some days are better than others. I'm still getting used to this writing business. It's strange to be working all by myself, in silence... but I like it. It's good. Slow and steady."  
  
"I'm so glad for you."  
  
"I think- I think that's how I want to keep things from now on, slow and steady."  
  
He was looking directly at her now. His expression had changed, and they both knew they weren't talking about the book anymore.  
  
"That sounds like a good plan", Kathryn said, after they had been silent for some seconds. "I've been thinking about that myself."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About taking it- slow and steady."  
  
Chakotay burst into a laughing fit, while Kathryn stared at him. "What? What's so funny?" Chakotay tried to stop, but her dignified expression made him laugh even harder.  
  
"Sorry, sorry... just the thought of... you, taking it... slow..."  
  
"I will! I've learned my lesson, Chakotay. I'll take it easy, I'll relax, I'll... I don't know, I'll plant tomatoes and watch them grow... I'll chill out, damn it!"  
  
This made Chakotay positively double over with laughter, until Kathryn couldn't resist it and joined him. They both landed on the couch, gasping and drying their tears. When they had calmed down and had been sitting in silence for some time, Chakotay turned to Kathryn and said. "I know."  
  
She gave him an inquisitive look, and he continued, a little hesitantly: "I mean, I know you've lerned your lesson." He paused, then spoke again, a dimple forming on his cheek: "But I also know that you are... well, you. Slow and steady just isn't sexy enough for you."  
  
Kathryn raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I get the implications of that last remark, Commander." Then she sighed. "Oh, you're right, you're right. You're always right. That's a very annoying habit you have, by the way."  
  
"I know, women say that too me all the time."  
  
Chakotay expected a quip in response to his, but she was silent. He was starting to worry she might have taken that thing about the women seriously, and that he'd stupidly spoiled everything, when she spoke.  
  
"I was just hoping... I was hoping that... since we both want to take it slow, maybe we could... you know... plant some tomatoes and..." Her voice faded and she blushed violently.  
  
"Uhm... plant tomatoes, Kathryn?"  
  
Kathryn jumped up form the couch in exasperation. "Oh, you know I'm not good at this, Chakotay, and you're not helping!" She turned away, fighting back the tears. This was not how she had expected this conversation to go. She was so sure of what she wanted to say when she came in here and saw him standing by the window. She thought she was done with all the confusion and the tears. Well, so much for that. Now her nose was red and she was sniffling, and he would think she was ridiculous and ugly and...  
  
He walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'd love to", he whispered in her ear.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Anything. Plant tomatoes. Beans. Cactuses. I'll be a farmer, a waiter, a Starfleet officer, I'll go back to the Delta Quadrant. As long as I'm with you. For the rest of my life."  
  
Kathryn turned to him, speechless. He sighed. "I love you, Kathryn. I've loved you all these years. You know that, don't you?"  
  
Her eyes closed, she whispered: "Yes. I know."   
  
She opened her eyes, and although the darkness was now complete, she could see his face clearer than ever, every feature, the design of his tattoo, his good dark eyes intent on hers. There was no hesitation in her next words.  
  
"There's something you might not know. I love you too."  
  
He smiled and traced her face with his fingertips. "Well, now I know."  
  
After a last look at his face, she finally allowed herself to fall into his arms. And although they were standing mere inches apart, it was a fall, like one of those weightless falls one experiences at night, in bed, not quite awake, but yet asleep, when the room starts to spin, and the bed seems to float, up to the ceiling, and then out of the window, into the night... For a moment, she felt dizzy and closed her eyes against his chest.  
  
"There's still so much I don't know, Chakotay. About myself, about who I am, or who I want to be... I don't know if-"  
  
"Shhh. There's no hurry. Slow and steady, remember?" He took her face into his hands. "I'll be here."  
  
"Like you always were."  
  
A cloud passed over his eyes. "Not always."  
  
She put hand on his mouth. "Always."  
  
As they stood there, looking at each other in the starlight, a silent promise passed between them. and it held forgiveness, and hope, and passion, and all the past, and all the future.  
  
The End 


End file.
